Hiding in the Spotlight
by Jennifer Cannon
Summary: The first week of college brings fun, friends and danger for Lee and Amanda's daughter.
1. Chapter 1

***The usual disclaimers apply-a very big thanks to Ermintrude for all of her  
time and help with this and for being such a wonderful beta. Thanks also to  
Cheryl, Lynda, Sue and Carrie-all the Wicky Gals in chat for all of their help  
and brainstorming and support :) Hope you enjoy ***

**Hiding in the Spotlight **

**Sunday, August 26, 2007 **

**9:30 PM **

A picture could be worth a thousand words.

He sat on the edge of his bed, hands shaking slightly as he studied the photo, taken with his phone only hours earlier, at the reception. A photo taken with a phone; technology really had come a long way . The picture had been taken in profile, but the face, the resemblance—it was unmistakable.

'_The son, just like the father…' _ His heart pounded loudly within his chest, drumming in his ears, almost drowning out the traffic noises on the street below. Long thin fingers reached out to touch the screen, lightly tracing the contours of the cheekbone and the jaw line.

"I know you," he whispered. "I do."

But did he know him? That was the question. He'd been so young at the time. Did he remember anything? Would he recognize him? At the moment the man really couldn't be sure.

If he did remember, though, he'd have to take care of it. Whatever he needed to do to survive.

"Me or him." His voice grew louder, gaining strength. He clenched his fist tightly, nails driving into his palms. "It's me or him." Those words continued to ring in his head as he lay down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling until his eyes closed and darkness claimed him.

**Wednesday, August 29, 2007**

**4247 Maplewood Dr**

**7:00 AM **

Pencils and pens, check.

Class Schedule, check. Jenna placed that on the bed beside the pencils and pens. Folders and notebooks for each class, check.

Campus Map, check. She was definitely going to need this.

Brain…check? Nope, the jury was still out on that one. Jenna let her breath out in a noisy sigh, blowing her bangs off her forehead. She glanced at over at herself in the mirror, her new navy blue Georgetown Hoyas t-shirt and khaki walking shorts, shoulder-length light brown hair tucked behind one ear. She'd already changed clothes three times this morning, trying to pick something that would make her blend in with the rest of the students. Hopefully this was the outfit that would work.

Hopefully. Her dark brown eyes stared back at her in the mirror, reflecting her anxiety back at her.

"So, you think you have everything you need?"

Her dad's voice. Jenna looked up to see him standing there in the doorway.

"I think so, yeah," she said, pointing to the stuff she'd laid out. "Everything is pretty much here, all I have to do is remember to put it in the bag and take it to school and I'm good."

"Well, I don't think you'll have any problem with that—sounds to me like you're pretty organized." Lee walked into her room and took a seat at the foot of her bed. "What classes do you have today?"

"Um—I have Arabic first at ten, then Biology and Humanities and Writing." Jenna read aloud from the schedule. "That's on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Biology Lab is on Thursday and Tuesday and Thursday it's Early European History and International Relations."

"Those are some good courses."

"Yeah, I'm a little worried about Arabic, though."

"Why are you worried about it?"

"Well when I picked it, I was kind of thinking Arabic would be good for my future career, you know?" She watched as her dad's jaw tightened slightly at the mention of her career—she knew that still made him anxious. "Now I'm thinking maybe I should've picked something easier, like French or Spanish. Maybe Arabic's too hard."

"Jenna, you're not going to know until you try it."

"Dad, I can't even read the writing—it just looks like a bunch of weird designs and stuff."

"Well that's what the class is for, to help you learn." Lee told her. "Trust me; you'll get the hang of it before you know it."

Jenna let out a sigh. "You're probably right—I think my brain is just coming up with stuff to worry about today."

"That's just nerves talking." Lee looked at his daughter, so grown up but still his little girl—to him she'd always be his little girl. "Is there anything else bothering you?"

"Not much. Just have this funny feeling that I'm going to park in the wrong spot, forget where all my classes are, get there late and never make any friends." And end up in front of the whole class in my underwear, she added silently, remembering the dream that had woke her up last night. "Feel free to tell me how silly I'm being."

"No, you're not being silly. It's natural to be nervous about the first day—everybody is. But I think you'll be just fine. "

"I hope so."

"Well I know so," he told her firmly. "You went to the orientation and took the campus tour, remember?"

Jenna made a face. "I remember it, but not much." The whole orientation process had felt kind of like being on a merry-go-round -meeting people, shaking hands, hearing speeches and constant walking; a constant spinning with no way to stop. "A lot of it's a blur."

"I'm betting your remember more than you think. And you already have some friends. I know Lisa's not there, but Ron and Christy are."

"Sure, but Ron's a junior and Christy's an English major living in the dorms. We're not in any of the same classes—we'll be lucky if we see each other once a week." Jenna traced the designs on her bedspread with one finger as she spoke. "I'm happy Lisa's going to Virginia Tech, because that's where she wanted to go—and I know we'll still talk and all, but we've been friends since kindergarten. It's going to be weird not seeing her every day."

Friends since kindergarten. Lee thought back to his own childhood with the colonel—moving from base to base and constantly changing schools had made it almost impossible to keep friends for any length of time. Jenna, however, had spent her entire life here—not seeing her friends every day would be a big adjustment. "Changes can be like that," he said. "But you'll make new friends. And you know you can always live in the dorms if you want. Might be fun."

"Maybe—I just didn't think it made any sense to live there when school's only ten minutes away."

"Well just remember that if you change your mind you can always move to the dorms next semester. All right?"

"Yeah, I'll think about it." Jenna looked up at him and smiled—a small smile, but it made Lee feel better to see it. "Seriously, I know I'll be okay, Dad—I think I just have the normal first day jitters."

"Normal first day jitters are just fine." Lee gave her a brief hug and kissed her forehead. "And remember you're not alone—all the other new students are going to be feeling the same way. "

Feeling the same way—it was the same thing the Georgetown President had said during that convocation speech on Sunday. Somehow hearing it again made the butterflies in Jenna's stomach start to calm. "Thanks, Dad."

"Anytime, munchkin." He ruffled her hair. "Come on, let's go downstairs, huh? I know your mom's made you some breakfast."

Jenna's smile widened. "Okay."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

"Here you go, sweetheart." Her mom put a plate down in front of her. "You've got an omelet, bacon, toast, some cantaloupe and some orange juice—a good breakfast for your first day."

"Mom, it's awesome—thank you." The smell of the food made Jenna's stomach rumble slightly—despite her nerves she really was very hungry. Picking up her fork she cut off a piece of omelet and popped it into her mouth.

"You certainly look very nice this morning." Seated at the table beside Jenna, Dotty peered at her over the top of her crossword puzzle.

Jenna smiled. "Thanks, Grandma." She straightened her shirt and pushed her hair back behind her ear again. "I almost wore a dress and sandals, but with all the walking thought this might be better. You really think it looks okay?"

"Darling, it looks perfect," Dotty told her. "Dresses are nice, but on your first day it's best to wear something comfortable."

"I agree, comfortable is always better," Amanda said. "And what you picked is perfect."

"So, are you looking forward to your first day?" Dotty asked.

"Yeah." Jenna took a sip of her orange juice, feeling the cold, sweet liquid trickling down her throat. It was cloudy outside, the sky the color of gray steel. Silently she hoped it wouldn't be like that all day. "I'm still a little nervous but I'll be okay. It's just that whole thing, you know, being a little fish in a big pond."

Lee stared at his daughter. "Being a what?"

"Just something the guidance counselor said last year," Jenna explained. "He said that when we were seniors in high school we were big fish in a little pond, but when we went to college we'd be little fish all over again. It just kind of stuck in my head. "

"Everyone feels like that at first," Dotty assured her. "But take my word for it— by the first week you'll feel right at home."

"I hope so," Jenna replied.

Amanda patted her daughter's shoulder. "You will, I promise. Have you thought about going out for any clubs or sororities?"

Jenna shook her head, taking another sip of her orange juice. "Not really. I don't know what clubs there are and I don't think I'm exactly the sorority type—you know—parties and stuff."

"Jenna, you know there's nothing wrong with parties in college," Lee told her. "Remember, you're there to have fun too—not just to study."

"Your father's right," Dotty said. "College is supposed to be a fun experience."

"Besides, there's a lot more to being in a sorority than just parties," Amanda added. "When I was in Kappa Delta we held bake sales to raise money for charity and volunteered at the local hospital—we did a lot of good for the community. And any club is a great way to meet new people."

A sorority—somehow Jenna had never seen herself as a member of something like that, but it did sound like it might be a pretty good thing. "I'll definitely think about it." Much later, she added silently, thinking of the first day that still loomed ahead—she still had to get through that before she thought about anything else. The butterflies stirred in her gut, reminding her that they were still there.

"What time is your first class?" Dotty's voice broke into her reverie.

"At ten o'clock." Jenna speared a piece of cantaloupe with her fork. "It's Arabic. I want to get there earlier, though—Christy wants to show me her dorm room and I just want to figure out where stuff is, you know."

"Sounds like a good plan," Lee said. "Do you need me or your mom to drive you?"

Jenna shook her head. "No, I should probably get used to driving myself there—besides, it took me forever to get the parking permit." She looked down at her plate, surprised to find it nearly empty—she'd been so lost in her thoughts that she didn't really remember eating most of it. Inside her pocket her cell phone beeped loudly, telling her she had a text message waiting. Taking the phone out of her pocket she pressed the button for her inbox:

Have a great first day, Jenna :) Miss u, best friends, always ! xoxo Lisa

"Who was that?" Amanda asked.

"Just Lisa saying hi." Jenna replied. Using the keyboard on her phone, she quickly texted a message back:

Miss u 2, hope you have a wonderful day, best friends forever:) xoxo Jenna

Outside the clouds were lifting, sunshine beginning to stream into the room through the blue curtains. Jenna felt a smile forming on her lips as she finished the message and hit send.

Best friends always—

Maybe it was going to be a good day after all.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

"Do you have your cell phone with you?" Lee asked as he and Amanda walked with Jenna to her car.

Jenna nodded, patting the pocket in the front of her shorts. "Yep, right here, and it's charged."

"Your car has plenty of gas?"

"Dad, it's got over half a tank. It's fine."

"It's running all right?"

Jenna let out a sigh. "Well it was yesterday."

"And you have enough money to get yourself something to eat later, right?"

"Mom already asked me that," Jenna replied, balancing the backpack on her shoulder as she bent down to unlock her car door. "I'm fine. I have plenty of money, trust me."

"You know if there's anything you do need, sweetheart, you can always call," Amanda told her.

"I know."

"You remember where the parking garage is?" Lee asked.

"On the tennis court, right?" Jenna's brown eyes were wide as she stared at her father. "I'm pretty sure we're supposed to park on the tennis court."

Lee sighed. "Jenna—"

"Dad, relax, okay?" Jenna grinned. "I was kidding. It's underneath Kennedy Hall and I'm supposed to enter using Canal Street. We practiced doing it about three times, remember? I'm practically an expert."

"Yeah, well just be careful," Lee told her. "Remember, it's going to be a lot crazier on the first day."

"Your father's right," Amanda added. "Just promise us you're going to be extra careful today."

Jenna gave another nod as she unlocked her car door and pulled it open and bent down, throwing her backpack in the back. "I will. I promise." She straightened. "Well—I guess I should probably get going. I should be back sometime between 6 and 7, okay?"

"All right—have a good day, sweetheart," Amanda hugged her daughter tightly. "We'll see you later."

"Take care, munchkin." Lee hugged her. "Hope you have a good day—love you."

Jenna smiled. "Love you too—bye." She got into her car and closed the door, fastening her seatbelt and starting the engine. Lee and Amanda stood together in the driveway, their arms wrapped around each other, watching as Jenna pulled out of the driveway and disappeared down the street.

"The first day of college." Amanda let out a little sigh. "You know, it seems like only yesterday that she was going to kindergarten and now it's college."

"I know what you mean." Lee smiled to himself as he thought back to that first day—the crazy outfit that Jenna had picked out with the boa and the tiara—the feel of her little hand clutching his own so tightly as they'd walked down the hallway towards her classroom. Thirteen years ago, but somehow it seemed like it had been only yesterday. "Time goes by so fast."

"Yeah it really does," Amanda agreed. "But you know what?"

"What?"

"Between you and me, I think we raised a pretty wonderful daughter."

Lee pulled his wife close. "That we did, Mrs. Stetson." Together they made their way back towards the house. Dotty was sitting on the family room sofa with a cup of coffee and her crossword puzzle—she looked up as they came in.

"So, did Jenna get off to school all right?" She asked.

Amanda nodded. "Just fine, mother. I just hope she doesn't have any trouble parking—I still remember that little fender bender that Phillip got into on his first day."

"I remember that too," Lee thought back to that day—Phillip coming home with a huge dent in his bumper. "Maybe we should've driven her today, you know, just to give her a chance to get used to it."

"Lee, if you drive her, she'll never have a chance to get used to it," Dotty replied, taking a sip of her coffee. "The only way she's going to learn is to do it herself."

"Mother's right, Lee," Amanda added. "She's going to have to learn this by herself."

"I know that," Lee said. "But we bought her that Honda Civic only about a month ago—it takes longer than that to really get used to a car."

"Jenna learns fast and she's a good driver," Dotty told him. "And remember, she's been taking that car all over the place since she got it. I don't think she'll have any problem."

Lee ran his hand back through his hair. "Yeah, you're probably right." At least he hoped that Dotty was right—the knots in his stomach hadn't completely loosened yet. "I think she was actually more nervous about her classes than anything else—especially taking Arabic."

"You and I can always help her with that," Amanda said. "You certainly helped me a lot when I took it through the Agency. She'll be fine."

It would have to come back to the Agency, wouldn't it? Lee recalled Jenna in her room this morning; the expression on her face as she'd mentioned her future career. The knots in his stomach began to tighten once more. "I know she'll be fine, she just seemed so—I don't know—serious about it all."

Dotty raised her eyebrows. "That's a bad thing? I would think you'd want her to be serious about her studies. "

"_Damn it, Skip, can't you even pretend to take your studies seriously?" _In his head Lee could still hear the Colonel's voice, saying that to him, the disappointment in the man's eyes as he'd stared at his nephew. "I do want her to be serious," he said aloud, struggling to put his feelings into words. "But college is about more than studying."

"You told her that this morning," Amanda reminded him. "We all did."

"Yes we did," Dotty replied. "And knowing my granddaughter, I don't think she'll have any problems on that front. Everything will go well and she'll have a great day. There's nothing to worry about."

"Yeah," Lee said. "You're probably right—she'll be just fine. "

He just hoped that was the truth.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

***for disclaimers see Part One. Enjoy :) * **

**Chapter Two**

**Georgetown University**

**Wednesday, August 29, 2007**

**9:15 AM **

"Damn it!" Jenna swore, watching for the third time as someone zoomed into a parking space in front of her. Her parents had definitely not been joking when they told her it would be more difficult today—at the moment it felt like it was pretty damn near close to impossible. The car lines at the entrance while waiting for the automatic ticket machine had been bad enough—someone hadn't been able to get their ticket out and that had held everyone up for about thirty-five minutes. And now she couldn't find a space.

"I swear, I'm going to dream about parking garages tonight," Jenna muttered to herself. Her eyes went to her dashboard clock. Fifteen minutes past nine. She probably wouldn't have any time to visit with Christy now, but with any luck she might be able to get out of here and make it to class with time to spare.

Providing she ever did manage to get out of here. Once again Jenna maneuvered her car through the underground garage to the second level—down and around, her eyes scanning the area for an empty space. The constant turning around was beginning to make her stomach feel funny too—she wasn't going to be able to stand too much more of this. Finally she saw it just up ahead—an empty space between an SUV and a pickup. It would be perfect. She let her breath out in a sigh of relief as she eased into the parking space and finally came to a stop. Grabbing her purse and her backpack, she got out of her car, making sure the doors were locked and taking note of where she was parked—the last thing she needed to do was forget where her car was. Pulling a creased copy of the campus map out of her backpack, Jenna shouldered the pack and made her way towards the elevators. She looked at the map as she walked—the Bunn S.J Intercultural Center was where she needed to go. A short girl with long dark hair and wearing a pale pink sundress stood waiting at the elevators. Like Jenna she carried a backpack over one shoulder and a copy of the campus map in her hand. It made Jenna feel kind of relieved, knowing that she wasn't the only one who needed up getting help getting around today. The girl looked at her and smiled.

"Oh, hey—the elevator should be here in a sec," she explained. "I already pressed the button. Feels like it's taking forever, though."

"Pretty much like everything today." Jenna replied.

The girl's smile widened. "Kind of, yeah. I thought I'd be early, but my class is at nine-thirty so I'm probably going to be late." The elevator dinged and they both got on. Jenna pressed the button for the first floor. "When's your first class, by the way?" The girl asked.

"It's at ten."

"Lucky you. I just hope I don't get one of those professors who gets all pissed off when you're late on the first day. I'm Missy, by the way."

"Jenna. It's nice to meet you. "

"Nice to meet you too. What's your major?"

"International Relations." The elevator opened and they got out. "What's yours?"

"Visual Arts—at least that's the idea so far," Missy bent down to adjust the straps of her sandal . "I haven't officially declared a major yet, but that's definitely what I'm leaning towards. I'd like to be a commercial artist maybe, working for some big-time Agency on Madison Avenue."

"That sounds like a good plan."

Missy nodded. "Yeah, that's what my dad said, too—now I just have to prove to him that I can do it. What about you?"

What about her? She couldn't exactly say where she planned to work. "I was thinking that maybe I could work for the State Department," she managed finally. "Or maybe an embassy somewhere."

Missy's dark eyes widened. "Wow—that's really cool." They left the parking garage, heading towards the tennis courts along with a herd of other students. "Sounds like an exciting thing—you know, all that security stuff."

"It could be, I guess."

"Freshman Party, ladies?" A guy wearing a oversized Hoyas football jersey with half his face painted half blue and half gray handed them a couple of fliers. "Friday night, Student Center—come if you can, okay?"

"Isn't it a little early for face paint, Mike?" One of the other students asked.

Mike grinned. "Hey, it's never too early!" he called out. "Seriously, ladies—come if you can."

"We'll think about it." Jenna looked down at the flier. A 'Freshman Luau', that's what it said—underneath it had a picture of two women in hula skirts.

"I think I'll do more than think about it," Missy said. "A freshman party would be awesome. Are you planning on rushing any sororities?"

The same thing that Mom had asked her about earlier. "Maybe," Jenna said. They passed a sports field—it was still pretty early but a few guys were already there, kicking around a soccer ball. "I haven't really thought about it a lot."

"Well you have 'til the second semester, you know. Rush Week doesn't actually start until then, so there's no pressure."

"I might. I mean, my mom was a Kappa, she said that it was fun."

"Really? My sister was a Kappa too. I was thinking about Alpha Phi Omega, though—kind of like the idea of a coed thing." She looked down at her watch. "Shit, I only have nine minutes. I'm never going to make it all the way to White Gravenor in time—not in these shoes, anyway. Where do you have to go?"

"The Intercultural Center."

"That's a lot closer than I am." Missy slid off her sandals, holding them in one hand. "Well wish me luck; I'm going to try to see if I can make it to my class in ten minutes. See you around, okay?"

"See ya—good luck." Jenna watched as Missy took off sprinting, dodging several students walking in the same direction. She looked down at her watch. Three minutes to nine—she was still managing to make good time.

"Excuse me," an accented voice said. Jenna turned around to see a tall black guy wearing a Hoyas t-shirt and jeans, carrying a stack of books in his hands. Hoyas t-shirts seemed to be the thing today, Jenna thought—she was glad she'd picked out the right outfit.

"I'm sorry to bother you," he said. His accent sounded vaguely French, though Jenna couldn't quite place it. "But do you know the way to the Intercultural Center?"

"Well no, not exactly. I'm kind of new myself," Jenna told him. "But I have a map and I'm on my way there myself—we can walk there together."

The guy smiled. "Thank you, I'd like that. What is your name?"

"Jenna Stetson."

"Ismael Bahati." He extended his hand. "It's good to meet you."

She shook his hand. "Good to meet you too. You have a class there?"

"Yes," he looked down at his schedule, which lay on top of his books. "Beginning Arabic."

"No kidding—that's my class too."

"It's fortunate we ran into each other, then," he replied. He had a very formal way of talking, Jenna noted—probably because English wasn't his first language."So, which way do we go?"

"Um—" she looked at the map in her hand. "Okay, I think if we keep going straight this way we'll get there. Just follow me."

Ismael's smile widened. "Lead the way then, Jenna Stetson."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**Bunn S J Intercultural Center**

**Room 145 **

**9:49 AM **

Finally here—Jenna let her breath out in a sigh of relief as she and Ismael entered the classroom. Finding their way around the large redbrick building had been challenging, especially since none of the rooms seemed to be in any kind of order. Still they'd made it with about eleven minutes to spare—that was definitely a good thing. A girl with cropped blond hair seated near the front of the classroom looked up from the notebook she was writing in and smiled briefly.

"Please—sit anywhere you want," she said. "You're here for Beginning Arabic, right?"

"That's right," Jenna replied.

"Well, like I said, you two can take a seat anywhere." The girl turned to another page in her notebook. "I'm Margo Andersen, by the way—Professor Gatari's student assistant. "

"That's the name of our professor?" Ismael asked.

Margo stared at them. "You mean you didn't know who your professor was?"

Jenna could feel her cheeks redden. "Actually the schedule just said' To Be Announced'."

"Ahh, I see." The girl nodded knowingly. "Well that's probably because he only signed on a month ago after his book tour ended early. You've heard of Jean-Baptiste Gatari, right?"

Margo spoke his name almost reverently, sounding as if everyone should know him—Jenna was beginning to feel very stupid. "I'm sorry," she said aloud. "I don't think I've ever heard of him."

"I'm afraid I haven't either," Ismael said.

"Oh," Margo looked slightly put out at that news. "Well you should know that he is something of a celebrity, at least he is in intellectual circles. But I'll let him tell you about that—he's very open about what he endured."

What he endured—Jenna had no idea what this woman was talking about and she didn't feel like asking, especially since Margo had returned to her notebooks, obviously not interested in talking to freshmen any longer. She took a seat in the middle row and Ismael took the seat beside her. At that moment the cell phone in her pocket gave a loud beep. Taking it out of her pocket Jenna looked at the screen—it was a text from Christy:

'Where were u? I waited.'

"Just so you know; Professor Gatari doesn't like cell phones on in class." Margo spoke without even looking up from the work.

"Sorry," Jenna said again, hurriedly typing a message back explaining about the traffic and parking mess. "I'm turning it off." She switched the phone off and put it back in her pocket. It was six minutes 'till, now—other students began to slowly shuffle in, filling the seats all around them.

"I swear it took forever to park," a red-haired girl complained, taking the seat next to Jenna. "If it's always like this I'm going to just forget it and take the bus."

"Trust me," the guy seated next to her said. "The bus is twice as slow. Relax. After the first week parking isn't so bad."

The girl gave a snort. "So you say. Some guy bumped his door into mine—it's my dad's car and he's going to go bonkers when he sees it."

"Put a sticker or something over it," another girl called out. A couple of people laughed.

"He'd hate that too," the girl said. "I'm going to get such a lecture tonight when I get home."

Inwardly Jenna sympathized with the girl—she knew how her dad would react if she'd ever dented his Corvette. Luckily she had her own car so she didn't need to worry about that. Reaching into her backpack she took out a pen and the notebook and folder marked 'Arabic' and placed it on her desk.

"Take it back in the dark and leave early in the morning," the guy told her. "It'll be cool."

"Good Day, everyone."

The man's voice seemed filled the room. Jenna looked up to see a very tall black man with graying hair standing in front of them, dressed in a pale blue dress shirt, black slacks and a thin black tie. He smiled at them.

"Welcome to Beginning Arabic," he said. His accent sounded a lot like Ismael's Jenna realized, though there was a slight difference that she couldn't put her finger on. "I am Professor Jean-Baptiste Gatari—" as he spoke, he wrote it across the blackboard in a neat script. "And I hope you have all come ready to learn. My assistant is Miss Margo Andersen, seated in the front, and before you leave today you may register your attendance with her. I'm going to be passing out a copy of the syllabus in a moment, but before I do, does anyone have any questions?"

"Do we need to be here for every class?" A guy up front asked.

"It's not strictly necessary," Professor Gatari replied. "But personally I would like you to be here, as we cover new material every day and you never know when I'll decide to hit you with a pop quiz. But as it says in my syllabus, six unexcused absences will get you kicked out of my class. Any other questions?"

"Didn't I see you on the Today Show promoting your book?" A girl in the back piped up.

Professor Gatari smiled. Jenna got the feeling he had been waiting for that question. "That was what you saw me on, yes. I was called on there to discuss my personal memoirs." He paused, taking a deep breath and rubbing his hands. "Incidentally, do any of you know the main subject of my memoirs?"

No one replied for a moment or two—the students all looking at one another—apparently they had never heard of Professor Gatari either. Finally Margo spoke up.

"The main subject is your survival and escape from the Rwandan Genocide," she said. "Correct?"

The professor's smile widened. "Exactly so, Ms. Andersen. Is there anyone here who can tell me about that?"

"It happened in 1994," replied a big blond guy sitting in front of Jenna. "The Hutus and the Tutsis, right?"

"That is right," Professor Gatari said. "Over a course of one-hundred days, the Hutus systematically slaughtered over half-a-million Tutsis. That's probably the same as the population of Washington DC, and probably more." His voice rose slightly. "Just imagine everyone in this city being killed. Your friends, your family—all dead. That's what it was like for me."

All dead—the words made Jenna shiver slightly. She couldn't even imagine something like that—didn't even really want to. Briefly she glanced over at Ismael; but he wasn't looking at her. His jaw was clenched, lips pressed together as he stared fixedly at the professor, his hands gripping the side of his desk so tightly that his knuckles were practically white.

"Ismael?" Jenna spoke very quietly. "You okay?" He didn't answer—didn't even give her a sign that he had heard her. She thought of reaching over to tap him on the shoulder, but he looked so tense—the last thing she wanted to do was upset him.

"How did you get out of there?" the red-haired girl asked the professor.

"Well, I can't give away the entire book, obviously." He told her. "But I can tell you this. A few days after the massacre at a Polish Church in Gikondo, my wife, daughter and I, along with about ten others, had taken refuge in a small chapel nearby, where we were being cared for. That was when the Interahamwe—they were a Hutu paramilitary group—found us. They doused the church in gasoline and set it on fire. I was the only survivor."

"How?" Ismael's voice. Looking over at him Jenna saw that he was still gripping the desk. "No one survived that."

At that moment Professor Gatari's eyes fell on Ismael. For a moment the man's expression seemed to harden, but suddenly he was all smiles again. "I'm sorry. What is your name?"

"Ismael Bahati."

"Well, Mr. Bahati, obviously there were some survivors, or else I wouldn't be standing here—now would I?"

"But how?" Ismael asked. "How did you get out of that place?"

"Well now, I can't tell you that—if I give away too many details you won't have any reason to buy my book. But I can tell you that I did get out, and from there I spent some time in Uganda, and Canada, and finally the United States. And any student who is interested in my story can also find my book on sale at the student bookstore. Look for 'Genocide: A Survivor's Tale', by Professor Jean-Baptiste Gatari. Are there any more questions about this?"

No one else spoke. Looking over at Ismael again Jenna could see that his eyes were closed—he was breathing slowly, trying to compose himself. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, but they'd only just met—the last thing she wanted to do was pry.

"Very well," the professor said. "Since we've covered that subject, I'm going to give you each a copy of the syllabus." He picked up a sheath of papers from his desk and handed some to the first person in each row. "Please, take one and pass them back. Besides my grading and classroom attendance policies, you will also note the test and assignment schedule. Please take note of these in your organizers, as I should not have to remind you. The textbook you need to get is also in the bookstore—a used version is more than acceptable."

"Is a language lab part of this class?" A student asked.

The professor shook his head. "No, but from time to time we will be going to the library to use the listening stations. But you will be hearing spoken Arabic on some DVDs which I will be showing you in class, I will be speaking Arabic to you and in time, you will be speaking it to me. Yes, another question?" He said as the red-haired girl raised her hand again.

"What about writing the letters and the words?" she asked.

"Ahh—now some people consider that to be the hardest part of learning this language." Professor Gatari said. Jenna watched as a lot of the other students nodded at this—it made her feel better to know she wasn't the only one. "But practice makes perfect, and before long you'll be able to write the alphabet with the best of them. In fact, the alphabet is the first thing we'll be going over." Going over to the chalkboard the professor erased his name and picked up a piece of chalk. "Since we don't yet have the book, I would appreciate it if you would copy this into your notebook, and I'll expect you to practice this tonight after class. It's best if you have a calligraphy pen, but for now a simple pen will do."

"Do you have another pen?" Ismael whispered. "My ink ran out."

"Sure." Jenna reached into her bag and handed him a pen. "Keep it, okay?"

A small smile. "Thanks."

"Now the first letter is Alif," Professor Gatari wrote on the blackboard. "And it's basically a single line curved slightly towards the left at the bottom—very simple. That's the initial form. The final and medial forms are like this—" he wrote something that looked like a 'C' with more on the bottom than on the top. "We'll be going over what those forms mean shortly. Now going on the second letter—"

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**12:00 PM **

"I don't know about you, but I'm definitely going to be practicing writing those letters tonight," Jenna said to Ismael as they walked out of the classroom. "I had no idea it was that complicated." Ismael didn't reply; he just stared off into the distance. Jenna decided to keep talking, to see if she could shake him out of this. "French was definitely a lot easier, you know? I took that in High School."

Ismael stared at her. "What did you say about French?"

"Just that it was an easier language. Hey, are you all right?"

"Yes, yes I'm fine. And you're right, French is a lot easier." Ismael drew in a deep breath and let it out. "Sorry, but I guess I was just a bit distracted, that's all. I have a lot on my mind."

"Having a lot on your mind is okay," Jenna replied, as they walked towards the exit. "So when's your next class?"

"It's at two—Intro to Early History."

"Mine's at one-thirty—it's Biology." Jenna pushed open the door and they stepped outside. "I'm going to meet a friend for lunch before then, you can come if you want."

Another small smile. "Thank you for inviting me," he said. "And thank you again for your help. But I think I'm going to go to the library and then the bookstore—now that I have a map maybe I won't get lost."

"Map is good, maybe we can have lunch some other time." Looking at his face, Jenna could tell that something was still bothering him—something he didn't want to talk about. "So I guess I'll see you later?"

"Yes, see you later. Again, it was nice to meet you, Jenna."

"You too, Ismael."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**O'Donovan Dining Hall **

**12:10 PM **

"My feet are about ready to kill me," Christy complained as they stood in the cafeteria line, plastic trays in hand. "I don't know why I decided to dress up—I must have been out of my mind."

"Don't beat yourself up," Jenna told her. "I almost dressed up too."

"Yeah, well, I saw people who I swear came to class in their freaking pajamas," Christy replied. "Next time I'm going to try doing that."

Jenna raised her eyebrows. "Seriously? People actually come in pajamas?"

Christy nodded. "Oh, yeah. There's even a whole webpage about it, with pictures."

"I don't know," Jenna said doubtfully. "I'm not sure whether I'd want a picture of me in pajamas turning up on the internet—everyone has a camera these days."

Christy grimaced. "Yeah, you have a point there. But I'm definitely going to have to wear more comfortable shoes tomorrow—I know I'm going to have a monster-sized blister on my heel. So you said you had trouble parking?"

"Someone had trouble getting their ticket out of the machine and then I couldn't find a space." Jenna grabbed a bottle of water and put it on her tray. "Hopefully it'll be easier tomorrow."

"Hopefully." Christy grabbed a bottle of water too. "I just think it's cool that you have a car—my dad says he might buy me one for Christmas but it's not a sure thing. Don't parking garages just creep you out, though?"

"Why would they creep me out?"

"You know—like in those movies where someone is walking through the deserted garage at night and there's someone following them, ready to attack or something."

"Gee, thanks," Jenna said drily. "Are you trying to scare me now?"

"No—" Christy elbowed her. "Silly, come on, that's just movies. I probably watch too many of those things. Anyway, a parking garage like that will never be deserted." She grabbed one of the turkey burgers and a plate of shoestring fries. "What are you getting?"

What indeed. Jenna studied the selection in front of her. Besides the turkey burger there was a grilled ham and cheese, a chicken sandwich, half a sub, a veggie burger and something that looked like baked ziti, which her mom sometimes made. Everything looked pretty good, too—not like the stuff they served in high school.

"Hey," another person standing next to her said. "Don't take all damn day, freshman—some of us have to eat too."

"Sorry." Thinking fast, Jenna grabbed the chicken sandwich and some fries and moved further down the line.

"Freshman," Christy muttered. "I think it's invisibly tattooed on my forehead today."

Jenna thought back to the way that assistant Margo had treated them in class. "Yeah, I guess it shows."

"Think so," Christy said. "I tripped over one guy's bag and he told me to go back to high school—please, as if college people never trip. Hope Lisa's not getting that mess. Do you want to split one of the red velvet cakes?"

Jenna looked at the tall cake—the thing had three layers. She remembered getting something like that at Busch Gardens once. "I don't know—I only have eleven dollars."

"Don't you have a meal plan?"

"Nope." Jenna shook her head. "It didn't make sense—I'm only eating one meal here."

Christy pulled her card out of her purse. "No problem, I'll put it on mine. Deal?"

Jenna grinned. "Deal."

"Awesome." Christy grabbed the cake as they headed toward the cashier. She handed the cashier her card—the woman swiped it and then handed it back.

"Card?" the woman asked her.

"Cash," Jenna replied. The woman looked faintly annoyed at that but quickly rang her up.

"That'll be $7.50," she said.

"Thanks." Jenna handed the woman a ten and pocketed the change. Balancing her tray she followed Christy to a nearby table.

"How's your day been so far?" Christy said. "Meet anyone cool?"

"Two people so far," Jenna took a bite of her chicken sandwich. "A girl named Missy and a guy in my class—his name is Ismael."

"Any romantic prospects?"

"Don't think so, he's just a nice guy—he didn't have a map and I helped him find the classroom."

"Sounds pretty cool. Nice guy?"

Jenna nodded. "He was." Something had definitely upset him this morning though—Jenna wasn't quite sure what was going on, but it had something to do with what Professor Gatari had said. "I don't really know him very well yet. What about your day?"

Christy shrugged, taking a bite of her turkey burger. "Got to class in the nick of time, blister on foot, not much else to say."

"How's your roomie?"

"Annabel?" Christy made a face. "She's not that bad, but she's kind of gross sometimes."

"Kind of gross how?"

"She bites her fingernails and then spits them out on the carpet."

"Well it could be worse."

"Worse how?"

"She could eat them."

"Eeew…." Christy took another bite of her turkey burger and ate some more fries. "I don't even want to think about someone doing that. She's not that bad—it's just kind of gross. But you know, if you lived on campus, we could be roomies."

Jenna unscrewed her water bottle and took a sip. "I know. Dad said I could always change my mind next semester."

"Seriously, you should," Christy told her. "The rooms are pretty nice and it's not noisy—well not too noisy, anyway."

"I'll definitely think about it."

"Are you going to that Luau thing on Friday?"

Jenna had almost forgotten about that flyer and the guy with a painted face. "I don't know," she said. "It sounds like kind of a crazy party."

"Crazy is the idea—college is supposed to be fun. Pleeeaasee?"

College is supposed to be fun, Jenna—that was the same thing that dad had told her this morning. Jenna looked at her friend's pleading face. "Okay, I'll go."

Christy smiled. "Excellent. Here." She handed her a plastic fork.

"What's this for."

Christy's smile widened. "For the cake, of course."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**Regents Hall-Room 101-A**

**1:30 PM **

Jenna had never had a class in an auditorium before—there were at least a couple hundred students here, if not more. Little fish in a big pond, she thought—she definitely felt like that now. She walked down the stairs and found a seat in the fifth row, flipping down the desk part and placing her notebook on the desktop.

"Welcome to Foundations in Biology—my name is Dr. Bill Spencer." Unlike Professor Gatari, who had worn a suit and tie, Dr. Spencer wore a blue Hawaiian shirt with large red flowers, shorts and a pair of sandals. His eyes peered out at them from behind a pair of thick glasses and his long grey hair, slightly thinning on top, was pulled back into a ponytail. He strode back and forth across the auditorium stage as he spoke. "I am the head of the Biology Department at Georgetown and I will be teaching you this semester."

"You don't look much like a teacher," one of the students sitting near Jenna commented. Several others snickered.

"And tell me, what exactly does a teacher look like?" Dr. Spencer said. The guy didn't answer, just hunched down even further into his seat. "Just for the record, I have very good hearing, so anything you say probably should be class related. By the way, do any of you happen to be Biology majors?"

Several of the students raised their hands.

Dr. Spencer smiled. "Excellent. For those of you who have chosen this field, this course will help to lay the groundwork for your future success. And for those who haven't chosen this excellent major—and trust me, I'm not biased—hopefully this will help you to see how important Biology is in your everyday life. Yes?" He said as a girl up front raised their hand.

"What's your attendance policy?" The girl asked.

That same question again, Jenna thought—did someone ask that in every single class? If Dr. Spencer was bothered by it though, he gave no sign. He simply shrugged one shoulder.

"Up to you," he told the student. "I have no set policy. But this class meets for an hour three times a week and there is a three-hour lab on Thursday. And since there will be assignments and a quiz each week, it's really in your best interest to be here as often as you can. Any other questions?"

"Can we record your class?" Another guy called out.

"Sure, as long as it's just for personal use," Dr. Spencer said. "Believe me, I check YouTube and Facebook regularly—if this handsome face of mine shows up anywhere on there you'll be hearing from me." Several of the students giggled at that. "Between us, though, old-fashioned note-taking works best. Anything else?" No one said anything. "Very well, that ends this class session for today. Please sign the attendance sheet up front and take a copy of the syllabus—all of your assignments will be listed there and I expect you each to have a textbook at the next class session. Have a good day."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

"What was that, like five minutes or something?" The girl next to Jenna said as they filed out of the room. "What a waste—wasn't even hardly worth coming."

"Actually I like that," Another girl commented. "My last class, the professor insisted on keeping us three minutes later just to prove that he could—I was nearly late coming here. What an asshole."

"Seriously, they can do that?" Jenna asked.

"I don't know," the other girl glanced briefly at Jenna. "But if it happens again I'm sure as hell going to find out. Excuse me." With that she disappeared down the hallway. Jenna folded her syllabus and placed it in the front pocket of her backpack—she'd study it later on this evening. She looked at down at her watch. A one and a half-hour break between classes—maybe she should check out the bookstore while there was time. She couldn't buy anything today but she could at least look.

"Hey there, again!" A girl's voice called out. Jenna turned around to see Missy, the girl she'd met this morning, coming towards her, still walking barefoot and holding her shoes.

"I've decided this is more comfortable," she declared, holding up the shoes. "Though I know my pantyhose are shredded to pieces. Tomorrow I'm going to dress more like you. So, how's your day been going?"

"Pretty good," Jenna told her. "Yours?"

"Got turned around a couple of times today, but that's pretty usual—my dad says I should have a GPS monitor implanted in my body," Missy replied. "At least the professor this morning was cool with me running late—he was late himself."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah, but only five. Hey, did you know if the professor is fifteen minutes late you don't have to stay for class? I'm doing good for this one, though—actually early this time, though it won't matter because I suck at Math. What are you doing here?"

"I just left Biology—we got out early."

"Cool—maybe I should've registered for that instead of Math. Wow, look at him." Missy pointed to Dr. Spencer, standing further down the hallway. "Did that guy even look in a mirror before getting dressed?"

Jenna grinned. "Actually, that's the guy who teaches Biology—Dr. Spencer."

"Seriously." Missy shook her head. "Really needs to learn how to dress. Well listen, I have to go. Talk to you later, okay?"

"Later," Jenna said. Missy waved again as she walked down the hallway. Jenna looked down at her watch again—still time to get to the bookstore before the next class. She headed down the hallway, towards Dr. Spencer. Now that she was closer she could see that he was talking to somebody—talking to Professor Gatari. Whatever they were talking about, it wasn't a pleasant conversation—Dr. Spencer's eyes were narrowed as he leaned slightly towards the professor, who just stood there, his arms crossed and his expression impassive.

"—proves nothing." She heard Professor Gatari say. "You have nothing but words."

"Oh yeah?" Dr. Spencer's voice rose slightly. "Just try me, Gatari. You'll see just how much nothing I actually have."

Gatari snorted. "You are a sad joke, Spencer."

"Call my bluff then—that's all I have to say."

"Hey!" A voice sounded in Jenna's ear, startling her—she realized that she had stopped moving. Someone poked her in the back. "Didn't you know you're not supposed to block the hallway?"

"Sorry," Jenna said hastily. Without a glance back she headed fast down the hallway towards the exit, the conversation she'd overheard still replaying itself in her head.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

***See Chapter One for disclaimers-hope you enjoy :) * **

**Chapter Three**

**4247 Maplewood Dr**

**Wednesday, August 29, 2007**

**7:45 PM **

"You've got to be kidding me," Phillip said. "Dr. Spencer is still teaching Biology? That guy was there when I was a freshman."

"Oh yeah, he's still there," Jenna replied. She lay on her stomach on her bed, the cell phone to her ear, the dinner plate that mom had saved lay in front of her, the food half-eaten. The three syllabuses that she'd gotten so far were in front of her—about half of the information was in her organizer now.

"Does he still wear that whole getup with the Hawaiian shirts?"

Jenna nodded. "Yep, the shorts and sandals too. And his hair's all pulled back in a ponytail—well, what's left of it."

Phillip whistled. "Wow. When I was there it was down to his waist. He used to even have this one shirt with seahorses on it."

"Seahorses? Seriously?"

Phillip laughed. "Oh yeah—he even gave us a lecture on seahorses that day. He even dressed up as a plant cell for Halloween once."

A plant cell—Jenna couldn't even begin to guess how that costume would look. "Wow—that is really weird."

"Yeah. Take my advice, though—don't slack off in his class. He might come off as an easygoing hippy kind of guy, but he only fools around so much. So make sure you get your work done on time."

"I'll definitely remember that," Jenna paused, trying to think of how she should word this. "There was something else that happened after class—it was kind of weird."

"Weird how?" Phillip asked.

"I saw him talking to my Arabic professor in the hallway—they were arguing."

"Arguing about what?"

"I don't know. Whatever it was, though—it was pretty serious. He called Dr. Spencer a joke and then Dr. Spencer told him to call his bluff."

"That's all he said?"

"Well, I didn't hear the whole thing." Jenna picked up the rest of her buttered roll and bit off a piece. "I was standing in the middle of the hallway and someone made me move. It just seemed strange, that's all. They aren't even in the same department."

"Professors argue about stuff all the time, Jenna, even if they're in different departments," Phillip said. "Trust me; it's not a big deal."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"I'm your big brother, of course I'm right. So, anything else happen on your first day?"

Jenna shrugged. "Not much else—had parking issues and met a couple of nice people—Arabic looks like it might be hard. Oh—and I'm going to a Freshman Luau party thing on Friday, it sounds pretty cool."

"I remember those," Phillip said. "They're a lot of fun. Just make sure you keep an eye on your drink, okay? People try to slip all kinds of stuff into girls' drinks these days."

"Yes, big brother."

"I'm serious, now—don't make me have to come up there."

"Phillip, I promise," Jenna told him. "I'll watch my drink."

"Good—I just want you to be safe." He paused. "Well, I've got to be at work at 4 AM, so I probably should let you go and get some shut-eye. Keep in touch?'

"I will," Jenna replied. "You too. Love you, Phillip."

"Love you too, little sis. Night."

"Night." Jenna pressed the cancel button on her phone. As soon as she did, though, her phone rang again—Lisa this time. Jenna pressed the green button to answer the call.

"You know that you have perfect timing," she told her friend.

Lisa laughed. "Well that would be the first time today—most of the time I felt like a chicken with its head cut off. So how was your day?"

"About the same, semi-chicken like," Jenna replied. "I'm thinking it gets easier, though—that's what I'm banking on."

"I'm banking on that too."

"How's life at Tech?"

"Not bad—though getting around campus was kind of a bitch—the map they gave me was confusing. And at least my parents finally left."

"How long did they stay?"

Lisa sighed. "Until yesterday. They were staying in a hotel. They probably would've stayed in the dorms, but they weren't allowed. "

"I didn't think they'd be like that."

"Me neither. I thought they'd be cooler about it," Lisa said. "I mean, don't get me wrong—it was nice for them to help me with my furniture and decorating and stuff, but I didn't really get a chance to have fun and hang out—not with them hovering around."

"I understand."

"Wish I did," Lisa replied. "And then last night, we went to Squires—"

"Wait—what's Squires?"

"It's a restaurant—kind of a hangout for college students. Anyway, my dad actually got up and tried to sing karaoke."

"You're kidding." In her head Jenna could see Lisa's father, a large quiet guy who sometimes came over to their house to watch football with her dad. She couldn't picture him singing. "Your dad actually did that?"

"Yep—right in front of everybody, I was so embarrassed, I couldn't even look at the stage."

"I'd be the same way. Other than that, how's dorm life?"

"Noisy, but not bad—at least we're in the newer dorms and we have central A/C." Jenna could hear some girls' voices in the background. "Listen, my roommate and a couple of other people want to go out and I'm going to go with. Talk to you later?"

"Later," Jenna said. "Miss you."

"Miss you too, Jenna—bye."

"Bye." Jenna pressed the button on her phone just as her mom came into the room.

"Was that Lisa you were talking to?" her mom asked.

Jenna nodded. "Yeah, she was just calling to say hi—before that it was Phillip. Did you know that Phillip actually had the same Biology professor that I have?"

"No, but I can believe that—some professors teach at the same school for decades." Amanda sat on the edge of her daughter's bed. "You almost done with your notes?"

"Almost." Jenna covered a yawn with the back of her hand. "I might finish them tomorrow, though—it was kind of a long day."

Amanda smoothed Jenna's hair. "A good day, I hope."

Jenna smiled. "Yeah, apart from the parking stuff it was a very good day."

"How was Arabic?"

"Pretty good—it's going to be harder than French, but I think I can get the hang of it."

"I know you can. So, did you meet any new people?"

"A couple. I'm probably going to be going to this Luau thing on Friday—it's for freshmen."

"You know, I remember going to something like that at UVA—it should be a lot of fun."

"Yeah, I think so too," Jenna replied. "Oh, before I forget—I need to go to the bookstore tomorrow."

"I know." Amanda said. "Just remember to remind your dad to give you a blank check in the morning, okay?"

"I will—thanks, Mom."

"You're very welcome, sweetheart. Do you want me to take your plate downstairs? "

Jenna shook her head. "No, it's okay. I'm not finished yet—I'll take it down it a minute after I take some more notes."

"Well, just don't stay up too late, okay?" Amanda kissed Jenna on the forehead and stood. "Good night, sweetheart—I love you."

"Love you too, Mom—Night."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

**Lauinger Library **

**Thursday, August 30, 2007 **

**10:00 AM **

"The Picchi Multimedia room is on the fifth floor." The library assistant didn't even look up from the books she was scanning as she spoke. "Just go past the manuscripts towards the back and turn left—you can't miss it."

"And that's where the language lab is?" Jenna asked.

The woman let out a sigh. "That's where it is—someone will be there to help you." She pointed. "Elevator's right there."

"Thanks," Jenna told her. The woman's only response was to lift her hand slightly. Not that Jenna blamed her—in a library this size you had to be busy. Jenna grimaced slightly as she shifted the bag carrying the load of books she'd bought at the bookstore to her other arm, wishing there were still lockers like they'd had in high school. Maybe she could find a way to put these in her car later on. She walked over to the elevators and pressed the button, watching as the glowing numbers on the top counted down.

"Hello there again, Jenna."

Ismael's voice. Jenna turned to see him standing behind her, also carrying a bag of books.

"Hey," she said. "You went to the bookstore too."

A slight smile. "Well, I had to; luckily the lines were not as long today."

"Yeah, yesterday they were pretty crazy." The elevator chimed, the doors opening and they stepped inside. "So where are you going?"

"To the fifth floor—the multimedia room."

"Language lab?" Jenna asked, pressing the button for the fifth floor. Ismael nodded. "That's a coincidence—I'm going there too. Just hoping to get a jump start on this class—I haven't even looked at the textbook yet."

"Don't feel bad," he told her. "I haven't either. I will catch up tonight, though."

"Are you staying in the dorms?"

Another nod. "Yeah. You?"

"No, I only live about eight minutes away, so I'm living at home." The elevator came to a stop on the third floor, but no one was there—after a few seconds it closed again. "I might try living in the dorms next semester, though. Do you like it?"

"It's not bad."

"That's what I've heard." Ismael didn't say anything in reply—he seemed more distant than he had yesterday. Maybe it was just her imagination working overtime, she thought. She hardly knew the guy and already she was talking him to death. The elevator stopped at the fifth floor and they got off. Jenna followed Ismael past the shelves containing the manuscripts and through the door on the left.

"Can I help you?" A man at the desk asked them.

"Yes," Ismael said. "We both wanted to look at the Arabic language lessons?"

"Okay, well just sign in here," The man pushed the open book towards them. "Your name and the number on your student ID, please. The Arabic audio and visual tapes are on the first two shelves and the listening and viewing stations are in the back of the room. There's also some stuff on the computer as well."

"Thanks." Ismael signed the book first and Jenna signed after him, glad that she remembered the number on her card—with all the stuff that she was carrying it would've been a major pain to get it out again. The man looked at the signatures briefly and gave a nod—pointing them towards the shelves. The shelves were full of CDs, DVDs, and even some cassettes and videotapes—including these things that looked like larger videotapes with a strange shape. Jenna picked one up, looking at it.

"Wow." She turned it over in her hands. "I've never seen anything like this before."

"It's called a U-Matic tape." Ismael told her. "They're pretty old—I remember that my father used to have a player when I was young."

"This lab has a little bit of everything, I guess," Jenna said. The tape had Arabic writing on the case—it was probably for students more advanced than she was. Someone who could read the writing, anyway. Jenna placed the tape back on the shelf and picked a DVD lesson called Basic Arabic for Reading and Speaking—that sounded about right. Ismael picked the same thing and they headed towards the laptops. Only a couple of students were there now. She took a seat beside Ismael , placing both her backpack and shopping bag on the floor beside the chair beside his, taking out her Arabic textbook and folder, along with the new calligraphy pen she'd bought.

"You know, I don't care what Professor Gatari said," Jenna told Ismael. "I really don't think I'm going to be writing and speaking Arabic like a pro any time soon."

"Well, nothing that professor says is worth much," Ismael replied. "But trust me, you'll be just fine."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Jenna said. "I don't think it's going to be all that easy, though."

Ismael didn't reply. His shoulders were hunched, his lips pressed together and his fists clenched. So tense, Jenna thought—just like he'd been yesterday during class.

"Professor Gatari really upset you yesterday, didn't he?" She asked.

Ismael's voice was low "You could say that, yes."

"Want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. "Not really." His shoulders rose and fell as he drew in a deep breath through his nostrils and let it out. "But I will tell you one thing. That story of his is not the truth."

"You mean about surviving the fire at the church?"

"That's the one."

"How do you know?"

"Because I was there," he told her. "Not in the church, but in the country. I was a child, but I remember."

"Oh." Jenna couldn't think of anything else to say to that—something like sorry wouldn't even begin to cover it. What Professor Gatari had said yesterday—she couldn't even imagine going through something like that. "And there were no survivors?"

"That's what I told you." Ismael's voice was full of contempt. "I don't know if he's just trying to sell a book and make some money—I don't know what he is doing, but no one survived that fire. Certainly not him."

"You're sure?" Jenna asked. Ismael looked down at his hands. "Maybe they didn't know there were survivors at the time—sometimes those things don't come out until later."

"No!" He looked up at her. His voice rose slightly, causing the other students to look at them.

"I didn't mean to say—" Jenna started, but he cut her off.

"My aunt and my cousin were in that fire, Jenna." His voice was barely audible, his dark eyes full of pain. "No one survived. No one at all."

"I'm sorry," Jenna said quietly. "I'm really sorry, Ismael—I didn't know."

"It's okay, Jenna—I know that you didn't know." Ismael picked up his earphones and opened the DVD drive on his laptop. "I don't have much time before my next class, though, so I really need to get some studying done if that's all right."

"I understand," Jenna said, opening her DVD drive, placing the DVD inside and picking up her own earphones. "I need to do that too."

A brief smile. "Well, that's all right then."

Jenna pushed the DVD drive closed and placed her earphones on her head, looking at a dark haired lady on the screen as she greeted them, explaining that she was just going to go over a few simple phrases and that they should follow along. She glanced over at Ismael briefly but he didn't seem to notice her—all of his attention was fixated on his computer.

No one survived…

She had to get back to the bookstore and buy a copy of that book; Jenna decided—see for herself what he had to say.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

***See Chapter One for disclaimers-hope you enjoy :) ***

**Chapter Four **

**4247 Maplewood Dr**

******Thursday, August 30, 2007**

**5:45 PM **

Jenna sat curled up in an armchair in the family room, Professor Gatari's book in her lap. The glossy dust jacket had a large picture of him on the front, below the title. It was even signed—the clerk at the front had told her that she was lucky to get a signed copy because they were flying off the shelves. Luckily she'd taken more money today than she had yesterday, she thought—otherwise she'd never been able to afford it, even with the student discount. Though she'd had to get what they called the 'grab and go' lunch today, which was cheaper and consisted of a sandwich, apple, cookie and a little water bottle in a paper bag. The foreword contained basic information about the Rwandan Genocide—what he'd already told them in class. Quickly she turned the pages, skimming quickly past the opening chapters about his life before the massacre until she reached the part she wanted, the part about the fire:

**_ '_**_The pungent smell of gasoline and the smoke from the fire choked my lungs and stung my eyes, making it nearly impossible to see as I crawled, making my way towards the nearest entrance. Smoke is the most deadly; it often kills people long before the flames can consume them. I kept a bandanna over my nose and mouth as I moved ahead. It helped a little bit, but it wouldn't last forever. If I didn't move quickly, I'd be dead. Outside I could hear the shouts of the Interahamwe, calling for the 'inyenzi', the cockroaches, as they called us, to burn. Screams of terror filled my ears. My wife and daughter were somewhere behind me, I knew. Desperately I prayed they would make it out as well. I wanted to look behind, to see if they were there, but I didn't dare take that risk. Even a moment's hesitation might bring death, and it would do no good for all of us to die. Someone had to make it out of this hell, I thought. Someone had to tell our story to the world. It looked as if it was going to have to be me. Slowly I progressed. Shards of glass cut into my hands and ripped into my legs, but I didn't care, didn't even feel the pain. All I knew is that I had to make it outside.'_

Wow—Jenna shivered slightly as she read the words. To have lived through something as horrific as that—she couldn't even imagine what it must have been like. At the same time she could hear Ismael's voice in her mind—the horror she'd seen in his eyes.

_"My aunt and cousin were in that fire….no one survived."_

If he was right about there being no survivors, Jenna thought, that would make Professor Gatari a liar. Would someone really lie about that—just to sell a book and get some publicity?

Who was right? She'd hoped that reading it might make things clearer, somehow, but at the moment she just wasn't sure.

"Jenna?"

Her dad's voice. He stood over her—Jenna hadn't even heard him come into the room.

"I hope I didn't startle you," he said. "Just wanted to tell you that dinner's going to be ready in a little bit."

"No, you're fine," she told him, dog-earing the page before she closed the book. "I guess I was just really into reading this, that's all."

"So I see," he replied. "Is that one of your textbooks?"

"Not exactly." Jenna handed the book to him. "But it was written by my Arabic professor—he was telling us about it in class and he said that we should buy a copy." Her dad said nothing, just staring at the cover, a strange expression on his face. "What is it?" Jenna asked. He still didn't reply. "Dad? Is something wrong?"

"It's nothing," he replied, handing the book back to her. "I've just been seeing a lot of him on the TV news shows these days. So you decided to buy his book?"

Jenna nodded. "Yeah, with my own money. I didn't really know a whole lot about it, you know, the situation in Rwanda. We went over it a little bit in World History, but it wasn't very much."

"Well you were pretty young when all that happened, munchkin." Lee said. "You wouldn't really remember it."

"Do you know much about it?" Jenna asked. "I mean, I know you can't tell me a whole lot about anything to do with classified information or anything if the Agency was involved—but I just—I just wondered what you knew, that's all. I know that sounds silly. "

"Jenna, no, it doesn't sound silly." Lee told her. "And yes, the Agency did have some involvement, though that is classified information." He paused. "I can give you some general information, though. What do you already know?"

"Just basically that it was an ethnic cleansing of the Tutsis by the Hutus that started April of 1994," Jenna said. "And that over 500,000 people were killed. "

"Actually, it was probably closer to one million. Though finding exact statistics is more than a little difficult. And it wasn't just Tutsis who were killed; Hutus who were pro-peace were killed as well."

"Who exactly are the Hutus and the Tutsis?"

"Different ethnic groups—the Hutus were the largest group in the region. A lot of the Hutus tended to think of the Tutsi people as outsiders."

"Was that why this started?"

"There were a lot of reasons." Lee ran his hand back through his hair. "Tensions had been growing for decades, but I'd say this probably started in 1990 when a group of refugees from Uganda invaded northern Rwanda to try and overthrow the Hutu-led government."

"Were the refugees from Rwanda?"

"Originally, yeah," Lee said. "Anyway, this set off a civil war, and a lot of the Hutu groups started to believe that the Tutsis were involved in a plot to take them over and enslave them."

"How long did the war last?"

"Until about 1993. President Juvenal Habyarimana declared a cease-fire and planned to implement something called the Arusha Accords."

"What were the Arusha Accords?" Jenna asked.

This was starting to feel like he was teaching a class at the Agency—something he'd been doing a lot of these days. "It was basically an agreement among political parties to bring about peace," Lee told her. "They were planning on repatriating the refugees, instituting power sharing among the different factions and even incorporating some of the rebel armies into the government."

"That sounds like a good idea. Didn't it work?"

Lee shook his head. "No, It never had a chance to work—the President was assassinated, his plane shot down. They never figured out who did it, though both sides pointed fingers at one another. But that event basically destroyed any chance they had for a peaceful resolution."

This was the place where Ismael had grown up as a child. Jenna suppressed another shiver—she couldn't even imagine what it would be like to live in a situation like that. "And that's when the genocide started?"

"That's when it started," Lee replied. "There was a Hutu Power group called the Akazu that had been planning something like this for a while. The assassination was just the excuse they needed."

An excuse to start killing over 500,000, Jenna thought, remembering what Professor Gatari had told them. "What was the Interahamwe?" she asked. "Our professor mentioned them. Didn't they do a lot of the killings?"

Killings, among many other things, Lee thought grimly, remembering the briefings he'd received about the situation back then. Rapes, mutilations—the mass graves and the piles of bones they'd found—things that he definitely wasn't comfortable discussing with his daughter. "Yes they did," he told her. "Along with the Impuzamugambi. They were paramilitary groups organized for this purpose."

"What happened to them?"

"Eventually they were thrown out of the country; the ones that we've been able to catch have been tried and sentenced for genocide and war crimes. Other Hutus that may have been involved fled to refugee camps in other countries."

"How about the US? Didn't we do anything to try to help?"

This was going to be the hardest thing of all to explain. "We did try to influence things—along with the UN and the rest of the international community," he said. "But there were other situations at the time and we were afraid of getting involved in another Somalia—we really didn't do nearly as much as we could have. Foreign policy—it just gets complicated sometimes." Jenna didn't say anything for a couple of minutes, staring down at the carpet. "You okay?" He asked her.

Finally Jenna nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. And I understand what you mean about foreign policy." She paused, biting down on her lower lip. "There was something else I wanted to ask you about, though."

"What's that?"

"Well you said that finding exact statistics about deaths was complicated," Jenna replied. "And I just wondered—is it possible for someone to have survived something when the official reports say that there weren't any survivors?"

"It's possible, I guess—it all depends," Lee looked at her. "What kind of something are we talking about here?"

"Something like a fire, maybe—I mean, is it possible, hypothetically, for someone to have gotten out of there alive even though all the reports say that no one survived?"

"Yeah, it's a possibility, though after all this time they'd probably know there was a survivor."

"So someone could be lying about surviving something like that? Hypothetically, I mean."

"They could be, I guess." Lee was beginning to get the feeling that the situation they were talking about was not hypothetical. "Jenna, are we talking about anyone specific here?"

"I—" Before Jenna could answer, they both heard Amanda's voice.

"Lee, Jenna—come on, it's time for dinner. You don't want it to get cold."

Jenna put her book on the table and stood. "We should go eat, I guess. Thanks for the information, Dad—I really didn't know much about that whole situation. "

"Anytime—it's no problem." Lee studied his daughter closely. "And you know, if there's anything else you need or want to talk about I'm always here. All right?"

Jenna smiled. "Yeah, I know. Could you maybe help me with my Arabic alphabet later on?"

"Sure I can."

"Thanks again, Dad." Suddenly she gave him a quick hug. "Love you."

He hugged her back. "Love you too."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**9:00 PM **

"No," Amanda said aloud. "This just isn't going to work—it won't work at all."

"Hmm?" Lee glanced over at his wife, seated on the bed beside him. "What won't work?"

"This." Amanda indicated the paper that lay on her lap. "I asked Agent Haines to give me a situation report on the Doyle Case—the one that he was assigned in the class I'm teaching?"

"And did he?"

"Well he gave me something, all right." Amanda took off her reading glasses, rubbing her eyes. "But trust me; no one in their right minds could ever call this a report."

"Amanda, come on—I'm sure it's not that bad," Lee said. "I mean, Haines is pretty green, but from what I hear he's been doing some pretty good work in the field."

"In the field, maybe," Amanda admitted. "But he still needs some lessons in basic report writing."

"Don't you think you're being a little hard on him? I mean, how bad can it be?"

"See for yourself, Stetson." Amanda handed him the report.

"I really don't see how it could be that terrible." Lee reached over to the nightstand and grabbed his own reading glasses. "We're just talking about a simple situation report—oh," he said as he read down the first page and turned to the second. "Yeah, I see what you mean now—it is pretty bad."

"It is." Amanda said, taking back the report. "And he's going to have to rewrite it tomorrow—this is completely unacceptable."

"Well, he'll learn, Mrs. Stetson," Lee reached over and took his wife's hand. "He certainly has an excellent teacher."

Amanda smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Stetson." She turned to face him and their lips meant in a brief but passionate kiss. Lee's arms went around his wife and Amanda rested her head against Lee's shoulder. "Speaking of teaching, by the way, how did Jenna do with the Arabic alphabet?"

"Pretty well, I think," Lee said. "I mean, she still has a lot of work to do, but she's pretty determined and she does seem to have a talent for languages—I think she'll get there in time."

"I'm sure she will," Amanda replied. "And Jean-Baptiste Gatari is her professor?"

"Yes, he is."

"I had no idea he was a professor." Amanda shook her head. "You know, Mother and I saw him on the Today show last week, talking about his book. He was on Good Morning America and Oprah too."

"Yeah," Lee thought back to the cover of the book that Jenna had bought—the feeling that had come over him as he'd stared down at the photo. "Yeah that must have been where I saw him too."

Alerted by the tone of his voice, Amanda looked up at her husband. "What do you mean?"

"It's nothing," Lee told her. "When I looked at the cover of his book—for just a minute I thought he looked familiar."

"Familiar how?" Amanda asked. "Do you really think you've seen him somewhere before?"

Lee let out a sigh. "That's just it, Amanda—I don't know." He ran his hand back through his hair. "Like you said, he's been all over the place lately with that book of his—maybe I'm making something out of nothing here."

"It's a possibility." Amanda entwined her fingers with his. "But if you do know him from somewhere, it'll come to you—just don't stress about it." She paused. "I heard you telling Jenna about the situation in Rwanda, by the way—sounds like you did a good job answering her questions."

"I hope I did—it was a hell of a thing to have to explain to her."

"It was such a horrible situation," Amanda said quietly. "I wish we could've done more."

Lee nodded, running his thumb lightly over the top of Amanda's hand. "I wish that too. She did ask me a strange question at the end, though."

"What question was that?"

"Well she asked me if it was possible for someone to have survived something like a fire in Rwanda, even if there were no listed survivors."

"Anything's a possibility, I guess." Amanda replied. "Did she say who she was talking about?"

"She said it was just a hypothetical question."

"It could be hypothetical."

"Maybe," Lee said. "It seemed pretty specific to me, though."

"Jenna trusts you, Lee," Amanda told him. "She trusts both of us. If there's really something going on, I'm sure she'll tell us. Okay?"

"Yeah, you're right," Lee agreed. "I mean, I know you're right. She would come to us—maybe I'm just over thinking things." Like with that guy's picture, he thought—making something out of nothing. "Maybe it's just shadow shock."

Amanda nodded. "Could be, yeah—we have been working a lot lately." She placed her other hand flat against his bare chest, moving her palm in lazy circles. "But you know, there is a remedy for that."

Lee smiled, his dimples deepening. "There is, huh? Care to show me what it is, Mrs. Stetson?"

Amanda smiled. "I would be happy too," she told him, as their lips met once more.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**Bunn S J Intercultural Center**

**Friday, August 31, 2007 **

**Room 145 **

**9:43 AM **

"Hey Ismael," Jenna said as she entered the classroom.

"Hello Jenna," Ismael looked up briefly from his textbook and smiled at her. Jenna took a seat beside him, putting her backpack on the floor between her feet. He was seated near the back of the classroom today, she noted, and not in the middle like before. Briefly she thought of asking him why but decided against it—they were the only ones in the room and he had the right to sit anywhere he wanted to. It really wasn't any of her business, anyway.

"So where's that assistant girl Margo?" She asked. "I thought she'd be here."

A shrug. "No idea. But her things are there on the desk." He pointed. "Perhaps she had an errand to run."

"Probably an errand, yeah." Jenna struggled to think of what to say next. She couldn't just go and blurt out that she'd bought the book and read it—the last thing she wanted to do was upset him again. There had to be a way to bring it up naturally in the conversation somehow. "Oh, by the way, I was practicing the Arabic alphabet last night," she managed finally. "I think I've got at least some of it down. My dad helped me out a little."

"Your father knows Arabic?"

"Well he's a documentary film director and he's had to shoot in the Middle East before—he kind of picked up some of the language."

"That makes sense. It's good that you have someone to help you," Ismael told her. "I was practicing last night as well."

"Great minds think alike, I guess." Jenna said. Ismael smiled again at that. "Oh by the way, are you going to that luau thing tonight?"

He stared at her, his expression confused. "Luau thing?"

"You know; the party for freshmen." Jenna unzipped the front pocket of her backpack and retrieved the crumpled flier, handing it to him. "See? I'm going there with my friend Christy—you can join us if you want."

Ismael glanced down at the flier and shook his head. "Sorry, Jenna, but no. I'm not really much for parties at the moment."

"You sure? I'm not much for parties either, but you never know—it might be fun."

"I'm sure." He handed the flier back to her. "Thank you very much for the invitation, though. I hope you and your friend have a good time."

"You're welcome, anytime." Jenna replied. Ismael didn't say anything else, looking back down at his textbook again. He yawned and rubbed his eyes with back of his hand. He looked tired, Jenna thought—and stressed—maybe she should hold off on mentioning the book for now. She bent down and opened her backpack again, stuffing the flier back inside and taking out her own book and her notebook, along with her calligraphy pen.

"So you two are early again." Margo walked into the room, holding a Diet Coke. "It's gratifying to see that you're taking your courses seriously. So many people don't."

Who did this girl think she was, Jenna wondered, their mother or something? "I just want to do well in this class, that's all," she said aloud.

Margo smiled. "Good attitude. Oh, by the way, I saw you in the bookstore yesterday. I think you made a very worthwhile purchase."

Jenna stared at her. "I'm sorry?"

"Professor Gatari's book, of course," Margo replied. "I hope you've had a chance to read some of it by now—it really is an inspiring tale."

Jenna could feel Ismael's eyes on her—her cheeks were burning now. "I've read some of it," she told her. "It certainly is very interesting."

Margo's smile widened. "Yes, it certainly is," she said. Other students were starting to file in now, filling in the seats around them. "Let me know what you think when you've finished it, all right? I really would be interested in hearing your thoughts."

"Thanks," Jenna said. "I'll definitely let you know."

"Fantastic." Margo glanced down at watch. "Well I have some things to do, excuse me." With that the assistant turned away and went back to her desk.

"You bought the book." Ismael spoke quietly.

Jenna nodded. "Yeah, right after the library yesterday," she said. "I'm sorry. I was going to tell you. But he was talking about it and you were talking about it and it's been all over the TV—I guess I was just kind of curious about what he had to say so I just bought it." Jenna finished her ramble and Ismael looked down and away from her. "You're not upset, are you?"

"No," Ismael told her. "Trust me; I'm not upset. At least not at you. And I understand why you were curious. I just want you to know that most of the things in that book—they're probably lies."

"Would you like to read it yourself? It's right here in my bag, you could borrow it if you want. "

"Thank you for that, but no." his hands clenched and unclenched. "If I read it right now I might not be able to control myself. And I'm certainly not going to spend my own money on that—that rubbish. I would never support a liar like him. "

"I understand," Jenna replied. "Let me know if you do want to borrow it, okay?"

"Trust me; I will let you know."

At that moment Professor Gatari strode into the room, the textbook in his hand.

"As-salam Alaykum ," he said. He was dressed up even more today than he'd been on Wednesday, Jenna thought, wearing a black suit with a red silk tie. "For those of you who have looked at the text I'm holding here; and I hope that is all of you, that is a traditional Arabic greeting, meaning 'Peace be onto you'. But it's also commonly used just as a simple 'Hello' or 'Good day', and can also be shortened to 'Salam'." He paused. "Can anyone tell me what the correct response to that phrase is?"

"Wa alaykumu s-salam." Answered a student seated near the front.

Professor Gatari smiled. "Absolutely correct. And that means 'And unto you, peace.'" He placed the textbook on the lectern and took a piece of chalk and wrote both phrases on the board, in English and in Arabic. Jenna copied them both down in her notebook. "And before we begin our first basic lesson today, I must tell you what happened to me. While promoting my book on The Early Show this morning, I was given some very exciting news that I must share with you."

"What news is that, Professor?" Margo piped up.

Professor Gatari gave a slight chuckle. "I'm getting to that, Ms. Anderson," he replied. "The news is that my book, 'Genocide; A Survivor's Tale', has been nominated for the Edward A Milano Humanitarian Prize in nonfiction literature. I don't know that I'll win, of course, but still, it's always an honor to be nominated."

Nominated for an award—Jenna heard a sharp intake of breath from Ismael. Looking over at him she could see that he was breathing fast and shallowly, staring straight ahead at the professor.

"Oh, I know you'll win for sure," Margo gushed. "Your book is excellent."

"Well thank you for the vote of confidence, Ms. Anderson," the professor said. "But I can't claim victory quite yet, I'm afraid—we still have to wait and see."

"Ismael?" Jenna touched his arm and he jerked like he'd just received an electric shock.

"Sorry," she said, keeping her voice low. "I didn't mean—you all right?"

"No, it's just—" he shook his head. "I have to—excuse me." With that he scooped up his books and dumped them hastily into his bag, rising to his feet and practically running from the room. At that moment Jenna looked at Professor Gatari, who was watching Ismael's exit. The professor's face was expressionless, but his eyes—looking into them made Jenna almost want to shiver. And just as before the expression vanished, leaving only smiles.

"Well now that I've shared my good news," Professor Gatari said. "Let's continue our first lesson in Arabic with the history and background of this wonderful language. Arabic is a name which is given to descendants of the Classical Arabic language spoken in the 6th Century, AD. This includes of course, both literary and spoken language and is spoken across the Middle East, North Africa and The Horn of Africa. Currently the only form of Arabic is Modern Literary Arabic, which is what we'll be learning here. Any questions?" No one answered. "Very well, then. Let's start our basics by conjugating some verbs."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**Thomas and Dorothy Leavey Student Center **

**8:00 PM **

Christy was waiting in front of the Student Center as Jenna walked up. "Hey there," she greeted her. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to show."

"Ha ha," Jenna remarked drily. "I'm too not late, am I?"

Christy grinned. "Nah, I'm just impatient."

"Well some things never change," Jenna teased. Christy elbowed her. "I really like your outfit, by the way—it's very festive."

Christy smiled. "Thanks." She adjusted the turquoise bikini top she wore and straightened the sarong-style skirt around her hips as they walked inside. The entrance to the Luau was festooned with brightly colored flowers. To the side stood a giant paper-mache tiki mask bearing a sign which read 'GU Annual Hawaiian Luau—Freshmen Welcome." Soft tropical music floated in from the room. Jenna and Christy joined the line of students waiting to go in. "You don't think it's too revealing or over the top, do you?"

As they spoke a guy and a girl walked past them, hand in hand, both dressed in coconut bras and grass skirts.

"No, trust me—what you have on is definitely not over the top," Jenna replied. Christy elbowed her again. "Seriously, though, it looks awesome—about the only thing you need is a flower in your hair."

Christy tucked her hair behind one ear. "Actually, I almost did that. I like your sundress, by the way—cool sandals, too."

"Thanks." Jenna had almost worn her tankini top with shorts but had changed into the flowered sundress at the last minute—it just seemed more appropriate, somehow. Though driving in the sandals had been a bit of a challenge. "It's not too dressy, is it?"

Christy shook her head. "Nah, it's just fine."

"Where's Annabel, by the way?" Jenna asked. "I thought you said she was coming."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Christy let out her breath in a sigh. "But when I asked her about it, she kind of blew me off—said she had some other stuff to do. She might come later, though."

"Is she still doing the fingernails thing?"

Another sigh. "Among other things—did I mention she lets her alarm go on and on forever? I swear, you have so got to move into the dorms before she drives me nuts."

"Come on, she can't be that bad—you said she was pretty cool."

"Yeah, well, she's getting less cool by the day." They were at the front of the line now. The guy standing at the door was the same guy that had been handing out the fliers on the first day. He was wearing a giant straw hat and dressed in a grass skirt, a shark's tooth necklace around his neck.

"Student ID, ladies?" he asked. Jenna and Christy both pulled their IDs out of their purses and handed them over. He looked at them briefly and then handed them back.

"Welcome," He said with a smile. "Here you go." He placed a flowered lei first over Jenna's head, then Christy's. The music had changed to something with a faster tempo—more like dance club stuff now. "There's a buffet and drinks bar, by the way, drinks are strictly non-alcoholic and it's free until 9. Or you can grab a free soda or water from the palm tree cooler if you want."

"Palm tree cooler?" Jenna repeated.

The guy's grin widened. "You'll see. Oh, and in case you're interested, later on the Hawaiian Cultural Club will be demonstrating hula dancing and the haka too—hope you two have fun."

"Thanks," Jenna told him. "We will." They went inside. The walls were festooned with flowers and cutouts of Hula Girls. Battery operated tiki torches were in every corner, and brightly colored paper lanterns hung from the ceiling. Even the tables were decorated with grass skirting. Some people were eating while sitting on brightly colored mats that were scattered around the room and some people were dancing 'The Electric Slide' in the center of the room. There was also a small stage near the front also decorated with grass skirting and surrounded by wooden pineapples—Jenna guessed that's where they'd be doing the hula and the other dance stuff later.

"Hey look." Christy pointed. "There it is—the palm tree cooler."

"Wow—just wow," Jenna looked over at the giant inflatable palm tree. Walking closer they saw that it actually was a cooler with ice in the pot, holding canned sodas and bottled water. "I never would have thought of this."

"Me either," Christy said. "Let's not get that stuff, though. Let's get something fancy with an umbrella in it or something."

Jenna nodded. "Sounds cool." They went to the bar.

"Aloha," the bartender said. He wore a large straw hat and bright orange t-shirt. "So what can I get you ladies?"

"Um—I'll have a virgin margarita," Christy said.

"Sweetie, virgin is the only kind you're getting here." The man looked at Jenna. "And what would you like?"

"Strawberry daiquiri," Jenna said.

He nodded. "Be just a minute."

"Thanks," Christy said.

The Electric Slide had changed to the Cha Cha Slide—hopefully they'd play this stuff later on too, Jenna thought—this music made her want to dance. Absently she clapped her hands along with the beat.

"Hey there, Jenna." A familiar voice. Jenna turned around to see Ron Myers coming towards them, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts and carrying a drink in a pineapple container.

"Ron—hey there," Jenna gave him a hug. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Well I'm supposed to help out with the stage show later on," he explained. "It's sort of a favor to Dr. Spencer—just helping him out."

"Dr. Spencer the biology professor?" Jenna asked.

Ron nodded. "Yeah, he's the president of the Hawaii Cultural Club—I'm going to help him out with the music later on. For now I'm just hanging out and enjoying the party."

"Sounds very cool," Jenna said. "You remember Christy, right?"

"Of course I do—it's great to see you both." He looked at Jenna. "So how's your first year treating you so far?"

"It's been good," Jenna replied. "The first day was kind of crazy, I guess—but really it's been pretty good."

Ron smiled. "Glad to hear it. I'm sorry I haven't been in touch lately—life's been kind of crazy."

"Believe me, I know the feeling," The music had changed again to an old song—a woman singing about pearly shells—whoever was picking the soundtrack sure liked a variety. The bartender handed Jenna the drink in a clear plastic goblet with a paper umbrella in it. "Seriously," Jenna told him. "It's okay—I understand."

Ron looked behind him—Jenna followed his gaze to see Dr. Spencer, dressed in a bright green shirt with hula girls on it, motioning to him. Then he turned back towards her.

"Well, I guess that means I've got to go," he said. "Maybe we can dance later?"

Jenna nodded. "That would be fun." She watched as he walked towards Dr. Spencer and they disappeared behind the stage.

"Ron Myers—wow." Christy took a sip from her margarita as they walked away from the bar. "All this time and you still got that guy on a string."

"Christy, come on—I do not have him on a string. He's just a friend."

"Whatever you say, Jenna—but I have to tell you, I don't hug my friends like that."

"You have a wild imagination, you know that."

"Yeah, whatever." Christy looked at her watch. "What do you say we hit the buffet? There's still time before nine."

"Sounds good." They got in line for the buffet and grabbed their plates—Jenna had already eaten at home but as soon as the smell of the food hit her she was hungry again. She put some ham, sweet potatoes and some pineapple on her plate.

"I am definitely hitting the gym here tomorrow," Christy said as they walked over to the nearby mats and sat cross-legged, their plates in their laps. "My older sister was warning me about gaining the 'Freshman Fifteen'."

"The Freshman Fifteen?" Jenna stared at her friend in confusion.

"You know; the weight you gain your first year of college?" Christy ate a piece of pineapple. "I used to think she was kidding me but I have to tell you—I have been burning up this meal card of mine. So tomorrow I'm going to go and burn it all off."

"Well just don't overdo it." Out of the corner of her eye Jenna spotted Professor Gatari—still dressed in the same suit he'd been wearing in class. What was he doing here? He didn't exactly seem like the Luau type and he definitely wasn't dressed for it.

"No, I won't overdo it, I promise, But I have to do something."

"I understand." Jenna's eyes were still fastened on Professor Gatari as he strode around the room—almost as if he was searching for something. At that moment a man wearing a green shirt approached him—it was Dr Spencer. Jenna watched as they talked—she couldn't hear what they said but like in the hallway, it was obvious that their conversation was anything but friendly.

"Jenna!" Christy's voice broke into her reverie—Jenna looked over at her friend.

"You okay?" Christy asked. "You were staring off into space and you haven't even touched your food. You okay?"

"Yeah—yeah, I'm fine." Jenna watched as Dr. Spencer touched Professor Gatari's arm—the professor shrugged off his touch and then stepped back—a few more words and they walked out of the entrance. She had to know what they were saying, Jenna thought—even if it was nothing like Phillip had said, she still needed to know.

'Only one way to find out.' Her heart pounded loudly in her chest.

"Christy, look, I'm sorry—I have to go to the bathroom," she said.

"Want me to go with you?"

"No it's okay. Just watch my food and I'll be right back, okay?" Without waiting for her friend to say anything else Jenna grabbed her purse, rose to her feet and walked across the floor and out of the room. The guy in the hat and the grass skirt wasn't there anymore—probably enjoying the party. And Dr. Spencer and the professor were nowhere to be found.

'Think, Jenna, think—they've got to be somewhere.' Slowly she walked down the empty hallway, her eyes scanning left and right, her heart thudding in her ears.

"—didn't come here to listen to your wild imaginings, Spencer." Professor Gatari's voice floated in from a partially open door. The sign plate on the door read Dr. Bill Spencer, PhD. They were in his office. Jenna crouched down behind the door, next to a bucket containing a janitor's mop and broom.

"Oh, they're not imaginings, Gatari," Dr. Spencer's voice. "Not this time. "

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that this time, I have more than just suspicions." A brief pause followed. "I called you here because this time I have proof."

"Proof?" The professor gave a short harsh laugh. "Somehow I doubt that. There is nothing out there that you can find."

Proof? Proof of what? She tried to peer thorough where the door hinges were but she couldn't see anything but shadows. A long silence—Jenna could hear footsteps, someone pacing back and forth. Finally Dr. Spencer spoke again.

"You know you're right. For a while there, I couldn't," he said. "And I'll admit that it really stumped me. But the internet really is a wonderful tool, you know that? I keep telling my students that. So many things to find."

"And just what did you find?"

"Oh, quite a lot."

"I suspect you are bluffing, Spencer. Just like all the other times."

"You willing to bet on that?" Spencer asked. "I'll admit that you've been quite competent at covering your tracks, Gatari. But no one's perfect, are they?"

"Tell me." Professor Gatari's voice was low but Jenna could hear the rage in his voice as he spat out the words. "Stop playing games, you filth-ridden _inyenzi_. Tell me what you know!"

Inyenzi. Jenna remembered reading that word in the professor's book—the word that the Interahamwe used for the Tutsis. But why would he use a word like that?

"Oh, I'll do better than that." Dr. Spencer replied. "I'll show you." Jenna heard the faint rustle of papers—he must been looking for something on his desk. "Here you are. I think you'll find it's a very good likeness."

If only she could see what they were looking at—Jenna thought of leaning forward to look around the door but decided against it—it was too risky. She heard Professor Gatari suck in his breath sharply.

"Where—where did you find this?"

"As I said, the internet is a marvelous place," Dr. Spencer said. "Uri, Joseph Hugama?"

"Ntabwo!" Professor Gatari's voice rose slightly. "Hugama ni intumbi!" What language were they speaking? Whatever it was, she didn't recognize it.

Dr. Spencer laughed. "No, I don't think he is. And if I go to the authorities, I don't think they'll agree either. What do you think?"

More silence. Jenna could feel sweat trickling down her back—whether it was from heat or fear, she couldn't tell. Probably both. The crouching position she was in, balancing on the balls of her feet—it was hardly comfortable. She could feel an itch behind her knee but resisted the urge to scratch it, trying to stay as still and silent as possible. The itch seemed to grow stronger, though—Jenna breathed in an out slowly, trying to take her mind off it. After what felt like hours; Professor Gatari cleared his throat and spoke.

"What is this worth to you?" he asked.

"The question is, what is it worth to you?" Dr. Spencer asked. "More than your book royalties and your celebrity lifestyle? More than that pretty little award you might win?"

It was obvious that Dr. Spencer was trying to blackmail the professor with something, Jenna thought, but with what? If only she could see what was going on.

"You may want to rethink your scheme, Doctor." The professor said. "Believe me; I've put people in the ground for less."

"Don't—don't even try to threaten me, Gatari. You do, and the authorities will get this in the morning. Do we have a deal?"

A sudden shriek of laughter from the corridor startled Jenna—without meaning to she lost her balance and tumbled back into the janitor's cart. The mop fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

"Who's there?" Dr. Spencer called out sharply. She had to get out of here now, Jenna thought—and fast. Quickly she picked herself up and ran back towards the front entrance and out of the building, dodging several giggling partiers in the process.

"Hey, where's the fire, girlfriend?" One of the guys called out. Jenna nearly slipped going down the stairs in her shoes but managed to grab the railing and save herself. Pain shot through her ankle but she ignored it. The parking garage—that was where she needed to go, but where was it? Everything looked so different at night.

'Think, Jenna—think.' It was straight ahead, across the quad towards the sports field and the tennis court. She clutched her purse as she half ran, half walked in that direction. Was anyone following her? She couldn't hear anybody, but she wasn't about to risk looking behind to find out.

'Just keep moving….keep moving…' Her heart thudded loudly in her chest and her breath came in gasps. A campus police car was parked on the road next to the sidewalk; briefly she thought of going over there and telling him that she needed help but decided against it—she couldn't stop, and besides, what could she tell him? It wasn't like she had any proof.

'Keep moving…' Finally Jenna spotted it just up ahead—the parking garage. Her muscles burned and her ankle was seriously starting to ache but she pushed herself to run even faster until she finally reached her destination.

Nearly there—once she was in her car, she'd be safe. Finally able to slow down and catch her breath, she fumbled through her purse, realizing that she hadn't zipped it all the way up and then letting her breath out in a sigh of relief as she found her cell phone, wallet and her keys still there. She opened her wallet and took out the parking ticket, putting it back in her purse and zipping it back up. Her car was on the first level, towards the back—nearly home free.

Then she heard it—the sound of footsteps behind her.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

***see Part One for disclaimers-enjoy :) * **

**Chapter Five**

**Friday, August 31, 2007 **

**9:10PM**

Empty parking garages at night—damn Christy for putting that in her head. It was probably just another student. But what if it wasn't? Her fingers clutched her keys tightly—everything her parents had taught her about self-defense went through her head.

"Jenna?"

Ismael's voice. Jenna covered her mouth to stifle a scream as she whirled around to see him standing there.

"Ismael, what the hell!" Her voice came out a lot louder than she'd intended, echoing through the entire garage. "I mean, what are you doing here? You scared the crap out of me!"

"I'm sorry," he told her. "But I remembered that you were at that Luau and I came to find you and I saw you running across campus. Are you all right? Your feet—"

Her feet—numbly Jenna looked down at her torn and shredded hose and scratched feet. The strap on one of her sandals was torn.

"I'm okay," she told him. "I guess I was just in a hurry to get to my car." Even to her own ears that excuse sounded lame. She bent down and took off her sandals and half-walked, half-limped in the direction of her car—her right ankle was starting to throb a little now.

"Do you need help?" He asked. "Maybe we should get a doctor."

Jenna shook her head. "No, I'm fine. I think I just twisted it, that's all." She pressed the button to unlock her car doors. "What did you need, by the way?"

Ismael looked sheepish. "Actually, I wanted to ask you if I could borrow that book you have—the one by Professor Gatari?"

Jenna stared. "You chased me all the way across campus for that?"

"Yes. I was just doing some research on the internet and I wanted to see if I could corroborate something."

The same thing that Dr. Spencer had talked about. "What exactly did you find?" she asked him.

"Unfortunately, I'm not sure what I have found. That's what I need the book for."

"Did you find something bad?"

"It's hard to say at the moment." Ismael's expression hardened, his hands clenched into fists. "But if it's what I think it is, I will confront Gatari with it."

Confront Gatari—in her mind Jenna could still hear the man's voice, telling Dr. Spencer that he'd put men in the ground for less. "I'm not so sure confronting him is such a good idea."

"Why not? I know it might endanger my student visa, but people deserve to hear the truth."

"It's not that, Ismael—but I think he's a dangerous man, I mean really dangerous."

"What makes you say that? Did you see something?"

"More like I heard something." Jenna hesitated. "That's actually why I was running across campus—I was spying on him and Dr. Spencer."

"I don't understand. Why were you spying on them?"

"I—I just saw them together at the dance and thought it was suspicious," Jenna explained. "He wasn't exactly dressed for a Luau and the conversation looked really angry. They went out in the hallway and I followed them."

"What did you hear them say?"

"I heard Dr. Spencer telling him that he'd found something on the internet about Professor Gatari—that he finally had proof."

"Proof of what? What did he have?"

Jenna shook her head. "No idea, I was hiding behind the door and I couldn't actually see anything. But whatever it was, it must have been pretty bad, and Dr Spencer was trying to blackmail him with it. That's all I know."

"And you're sure that it was blackmail."

"Yeah. Dr. Spencer was asking him what it was worth, and threatening to go to the authorities. And Professor Gatari was telling him that he'd put men in the ground for less." The adrenaline was starting to wear off now and Jenna could feel herself shaking. She clasped her purse tightly, forcing herself to breathe in and out slowly. "And Dr. Spencer said something in another language and the professor answered him back—he sounded pretty angry."

"Was the language Kinyarwanda?"

"I think it could have been—the word inyenzi was used. I read about that word in the book."

"I know that word, Jenna, I am more than familiar with that word," Ismael said. "Did you recognize any other words?"

"No." Jenna shook her head again. "Just inyenzi and there was another name too. Joseph—Joseph something. I'm sorry, I can't remember." Ismael said nothing in reply. "Does any of that fit with what you found on the internet?"

He sighed. "Like, I said, I'm not sure. Why were you running?"

"I lost my balance and knocked over something—I thought they might have seen me, so I just ran."

He frowned. "Did they actually see you?"

"I'm not sure—I don't think they did, but I wasn't about to turn around and see. Ismael—I think maybe we need to get some help."

"What sort of help? The police?"

"Not police, exactly." Jenna knew she couldn't mention the Agency. "But maybe we can go to the federal authorities with this. This is DC."

Joseph sighed. "Maybe we can," he said. "But let me get the book and do a little more research first—that way we'll have more to tell them. Do you have the book with you now?"

"Yeah, it's with the rest of my books in the trunk. Hold on." Jenna pressed the keychain and the trunk popped open. She hobbled a few steps, pulled open the trunk and reached down into her backpack, pulling the book out and handing it to him. She threw the sandals in there too—it wasn't like she could actually wear them anymore. "Here."

"Thank you," Ismael said. "I promise that I will call you if I find anything."

"Okay. No wait, let me give you my number." Jenna grabbed a pen and took the book from him, scribbling her name and cell number on the inside cover. She gave the book back to Ismael. "I still think maybe we need to get some help, though."

"No. Give me time to do some research first."

"But—" Jenna started to speak but Ismael held up his hand.

"Jenna, please." He said. "Remember, this is my battle, not yours—and this is personal. Promise not to tell anyone until you hear from me. Please?"

Jenna sighed. "Okay—I promise I won't say anything. But call me, okay? Let me know."

"I will, I promise." Ismael clutched the book tightly. "And thank you for this, and for your help."

"You're welcome. I just hope it helps you." Jenna closed her back trunk firmly and walked back around to the driver's side and got in. Her hands were still shaking slightly, her heart beating fast—she kept breathing in and out, trying to bring it under control. She put her purse on the seat beside her and put the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine roared into life. Ismael peered in at her through the window and she rolled the window down.

"Are you sure you'll be all right to drive?" he asked her. "You're still limping."

"I'll be fine," she told him. "Really, I just twisted it. How about you? Do you need a ride to your dorm?"

Ismael shook his head. "No, I can walk. Take care, Jenna."

"You too." Jenna watched in her rear view and side mirrors as Ismael, the book tucked under his arm, walked away from her and disappeared from view. Jenna shifted her car into reverse and slowly backed out of the parking space. Her ankle gave a slight twinge but it wasn't too bad. She pulled out, put her car into drive and drove towards the entrance, putting her ticket in the machine. The barrier lifted and she drove out of the garage and into the darkness.

'Promise not to tell anyone until you hear from me.' In her head Jenna could still hear Ismael's words. She had promised him that she wouldn't say anything to anyone until she heard from him. Was that the right thing to do, though? What if she was making a mistake and Ismael was putting himself in danger? What if both of them were? She turned east onto Reservoir Road heading towards 38th Street. Traffic wasn't so bad this time of night—at least not as bad as it was during the day. Jenna considered turning on her radio but decided against it—her head was just too full for music right now.

Maybe she should just forget her promise and tell her parents about it anyway? They were agents, after all. They would know how to handle all of this better than she and Ismael could. Maybe this was too big for them to handle. The traffic light up ahead was red—slowly Jenna pulled to a stop.

What did she actually have, though? Ismael's word that no one survived that church fire? An overheard conversation concerning blackmail with absolutely no idea what Dr. Spencer was trying to blackmail Professor Gatari with? She couldn't even recall the name that they had mentioned—just that the first name was Joseph. Thinking back, she had to admit that it wasn't much. And Ismael did have a point—it was his battle, not hers.

No, she decided, as the light turned green and she made a right onto Wisconsin Avenue and then a left onto K Street, heading towards the ramp for the Rock Creek Parkway. She couldn't tell them, not until Ismael finished his research and they had more evidence. Without additional information, they didn't have much of a case at all, just speculation.

All she could do right now was wait; Jenna thought to herself. Wait and hope that nothing went wrong.

'It's going to be okay,' she told herself. 'This is all going to work out.' The words repeated themselves in her head like a mantra as she headed towards home.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**4247 Maplewood Dr. **

**9:45 PM **

The time read fifteen minutes to ten when Jenna pulled up into the driveway of her house and came to a stop. Somehow it seemed like it should be later than that—at least it felt later. Jenna's ankle still ached, along with the various scratches on her feet. She grabbed her purse and slowly got out of the car, pressing the button to lock it and then making her way up the sidewalk and up to the front porch. Before she could get her house key out the porch light came on and the front door opened—her parents stood there.

"Jenna?" her mom enveloped her in a brief hug. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so glad you're all right—we were just about to call the police—what happened to your feet? Where are your shoes?"

Her feet—she could feel her parents' eyes on her—she was going to have to come up with something to explain that. "I tripped and fell coming down the student center stairs and tore my sandal strap," she explained, figuring the truth was the best policy—part of it, anyway. "My ankle hurts a little but it's not bad."

"Well come inside, munchkin—let's have a look at it, huh?" Lee put his arm around his daughter and helped her inside the house. "Just sit right here on the sofa."

"Okay." Jenna sat on the family room sofa. "It's really not bad."

"I'll go get the first-aid kit from the bathroom," Amanda went upstairs and Lee knelt beside Jenna, tearing away the shredded remains of the hose that covered her feet and inspecting the scratches.

"They don't look that bad—they just need to be cleaned and bandaged. Which ankle hurts?" he asked.

"My right one," Jenna said.

"Let's see, then." Lee took her foot and stretched her leg out to inspect her ankle, turning her foot in his hands and probing it gently with her fingers. Jenna winced as he touched a sore spot—he whistled softly.

"Yeah, you twisted it all right," he told her. "But there's hardly any swelling. I think you just have a mild sprain."

"Do we need to go to the doctor?" Jenna asked.

"No, I don't think so. Rest, ice compression and elevation—I think that's what you need."

"Seriously, it really doesn't hurt a lot." Jenna had said that so many times now that she was starting to feel like a broken record. "Why were you about to call the police? I wasn't all that late."

"Christy called us about ten minutes ago," Lee said. "She said that you told her you had to go to the bathroom and then you never came back—when she couldn't get you on your cell phone, she got worried."

"Oh God, Christy." Jenna clapped her hands over her face. Amanda came back down the stairs carrying the first aid kit. "I'm such an idiot—I completely forgot about her. She's going to hate me."

"Actually, she was more worried than anything else," Amanda told her, taking a bottle of iodine and a cotton swab from the kit. She began to dab gently at the scratches. "Especially when she went out in the hallway to look for you and saw your student ID lying on the ground."

Lying on the ground—her purse hadn't been closed all the way—she'd taken the ID out to show the guy at the door and hadn't put it back in her wallet—it must have fallen out when she fell over. Had Professor Gatari and Dr. Spencer seen it too? They wouldn't have just left it there, though—that didn't make any sense. "I didn't know I had left it there," she managed finally. "It must have fallen out of my purse."

"Sweetheart, what exactly did happen?" Her mom asked. "Why didn't you go back to the dance?"

Why, indeed. She had to think something up, and fast. "Well I was going to go back," she managed finally. "But then I saw a friend of mine outside—I went out to see her and that's when I tripped on the stairs."

"Why didn't you just phone Christy and let her know you were going back home?" Lee asked. "You must have known she'd be worried."

"Yeah, I should've thought of that." Jenna looked down at her hands, twisting them in her lap. "But my ankle really hurt and my shoe was ruined—I didn't think about anything but going home."

Amanda took a couple of large band-aids and an ace bandage out of the first aid kit. "And why didn't you answer your phone when Christy called?"

This was beginning to feel a lot like an interrogation. "I was driving," Jenna replied. "You always told me not to use my cell phone while driving. I'm sorry I didn't tell Christy—I promise I'll call her and apologize."

"Jenna, look up here—look at me." Her dad ordered. His eyes peered into hers. "Is that what actually happened? Are you telling us the truth right now?"

The truth—it had never been easy for her to lie, especially to her parents. She looked up, meeting her dad's eyes. "Dad, I really did trip on the stairs."

"Because you saw a friend?" Lee asked. "What friend was this?"

The questions were coming one after the other—Jenna's head was beginning to throb now, just like her ankle, the excitement of the night beginning to catch up with her. She rubbed the center of her forehead with her fingertips, trying to think.

"Sweetheart." Amanda took her daughter's hands. "Listen to me. Whatever it is, you can tell us, okay? I promise, whatever it is, we'll understand."

She had to say something, Jenna thought. She had promised that she wouldn't tell details but she could tell some things without giving it all away. Jenna drew in a deep breath and let it out. "Okay, I didn't see a friend," she began. "But it's kind of hard to explain. A classmate and I—well, we're kind of investigating something."

"Kind of investigating what?" Lee wanted to know.

"Well that's just it; we're not sure yet," Jenna explained. "But he's been doing some research about it on the internet, and well—I guess I kind of ended up helping him."

"Him?" Lee repeated sharply. "Who exactly is this guy?"

"He's just a classmate, Dad—we met on the first day."

"What does this have to do with you falling down the stairs?" Amanda asked as she began to wrap the bandage around her right ankle .

This was not going to be easy at all. "I overheard a conversation tonight, and I thought it might have something to do with what we're investigating. And while I was listening I kind of knocked something over."

Lee shook his head. "Exactly where were you listening from?"

"From behind a door," Jenna replied. "I thought they might have heard me so I ran outside. I didn't stop until I reached the parking garage."

"Was someone following you?" Amanda asked.

"No—at least I don't think so," Jenna said. "I think I really just panicked. But that's what really happened, I swear."

"Okay." Lee ran his hands back through his hair. "Can you tell us just what exactly you and this guy are investigating? And what you overheard tonight?"

"Dad I'm sorry, but I can't," Jenna said.

"You can't?" Lee's voice rose. "Why can't you?"

"Because I promised him, Dad. I told him that I wouldn't say anything until we had more to go on." At that Lee rose to his feet and began to pace back and forth.

"Sweetheart, listen to me okay?" Amanda finished wrapping Jenna's ankle and secured it with the metal clip. "I know you made a promise, but if you're in any danger, your father and I need to know about it so we can help you."

Jenna shook her head. "I really don't think I am in any danger. Like I said, we don't have anything concrete to go on—we don't have any evidence of anything right now."

"And you can't tell us anything else?" Lee asked. "Who's involved—what you're investigating—anything at all?"

Jenna sighed. "There really isn't much else to tell. I promise when I have something more concrete to tell you, I will, but right now that's all I can say. Okay?"

Amanda stared at her daughter for a few moments, her dark eyes peering into hers. Finally she spoke.

"Okay," she told Jenna. "As long as you promise to tell us the second you know anything; or if you're in any danger."

"Mom, I promise I will." Jenna replied. She looked up at Lee? "Dad?"

"Jenna, I—" Lee began, but Amanda turned to look at him. Lee let out a quiet sigh.

"All right," he said finally. He knelt back down beside her. "Just as long as you let us know. All we want is for you to be safe."

"I know you do." Jenna hugged each of them. "Love you."

"Love you too, sweetheart," Amanda told her. "Here—just lay back on this cushion and I'll just prop your leg up on this cushion here and I'll go get you an ice pack for your ankle, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Mom." Jenna said as she leaned back—her eyes already starting to close.


	6. Chapter 6

***For disclosures, see Chapter One. Enjoy :) **

**Chapter Six**

**4247 Maplewood Dr.**

**Friday, August 31, 2007**

**10:30 PM **

"I think we'll just let her sleep on the sofa tonight," Amanda said, adjusting the ice pack over Jenna's wrapped ankle, making sure it was firmly propped up on the cushion. "Mother might wake her up when she comes home, but actually, I think Jenna will sleep right through—she's pretty tired."

"How's the ankle?" Lee asked.

"About the same." Amanda smoothed her daughter's hair out of her face and kissed her forehead briefly. "She should be fine as long as she stays off of it for the next day or so."

"Yeah, it's really not that bad," Lee agreed. Physically, at any rate—it was the rest that he wasn't so sure about right now. Amanda turned off the lamp and together they went upstairs.

"Do you think she was telling us the truth about what really happened?" He asked.

Amanda nodded. "I think so. I think she was telling us all that she could."

"You mean all that she wanted to tell us."

Amanda sighed. "Lee—"

"I'm sorry, Amanda." Lee sat down on the edge of their bed. "I'm just not comfortable with her leaving us in the dark like this. Not when she could really be in danger."

"We don't know for sure if Jenna is in any danger," Amanda countered, taking a seat next to him. Lee just shook his head. "She said that she didn't think she was."

"She said." Lee laughed shortly. "How would she even know? And who knows if this guy she made a promise to is even trustworthy?"

"Jenna has good instincts Lee, and she says that she trusts him."

"Trusts him?" Lee repeated. "She only met him a couple of days ago. We don't even know his name. And we don't know what the hell he could be leading her into."

"She said that she would let us know as soon as she had any evidence."

"And by that time she tells us it could be too late." Lee shook his head again. "Amanda, you and I—we're trained agents. Jenna doesn't have that kind of experience—she doesn't know the first thing about situations like this. I mean, for god's sake, she left her student ID lying in the middle of the hallway!"

"You need to calm down."

"How can I calm down?" Lee's voice rose. "Huh? Anyone could've seen that ID. She could be a target right now and not even know it. We have to do something."

"All right, so what do you propose we do?" Amanda asked. "Have her tailed everywhere she goes? Take her to the Agency for interrogation and keep her there in a holding cell until she talks?"

Lee sighed, running his hands back through his hair. "A-man-da, come on— "

"Lee, just listen to me for a minute." Amanda took her husband's hands. "Jenna's an adult now. She's not a child."

"What does that have to do with anything? You saw what happened tonight—she was hurt."

"She had an accident on the stairs, Lee. It's not like anyone attacked her." Lee said nothing, looking down and away from her. "I really think we need to trust her on this."

Lee let out his breath in a sigh. "I do trust her, Amanda, really I do—but this whole situation, I—I just don't know." He looked up, his eyes meeting hers as he struggled to put his tangled feelings into words. "And I know she's an adult, but she's still my daughter. I still want to keep her safe."

"I want to keep her safe too," Amanda replied. But I think that for now we just need to wait and watch."

Waiting and watching, Lee thought—he had to admit that he'd never been very good at that. "And if it turns out that she really is in danger?"

"If she is, we'll deal with it the way we've always dealt with it. Together. Because we can handle anything as long as we're together." Amanda squeezed his hands. "Remember?"

Lee smiled faintly. "Yeah, I remember."

"Good." Still holding his hands in hers Amanda leaned forward and kissed him briefly "So, is that a deal, Mr. Stetson?"

"That's a deal, Mrs. Stetson," Lee said. He leaned forward, his lips claiming hers.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**Georgetown University**

**Saturday, September 1, 2007 **

**8:30 AM **

He'd finally found it.

Ismael rubbed his eyes blearily as stared at the photo on the screen. It was a photo of about five men, holding rifles and dressed in military style fatigues and berets, staring sullenly at the camera. It was the middle one who caught Ismael's eye.

Joseph Hugama—that was what the caption read. He took his mouse to the next tab and clicked on the document on the web page, scrolling down the list until he found the name he wanted. Hugama, Joseph—Wanted for war crimes; believed to be deceased.

It had to be him, Ismael thought, barely daring to breathe. His hands trembled as he went back to the picture and held the book up beside the laptop, studying the pictures side by side. This time it was the same face shape, the same eyes, the curve of the jaw—even down to the posture, the slight tilt of the head. The hair was a little different, the face a little older, but they were the same person. He'd be willing to stake his life on it.

So who was Jean-Baptiste Gatari? Was he an invented fiction, or an assumed identity? He still didn't know. He definitely had him, though. Hiding all this time… the most obvious place… the last place that anyone would think to look.

"No one looks for a dead man. Isn't that right, Joseph?" Ismael studied the photo as he spoke the words aloud, feeling a surge of triumph running through him. He'd have to find more proof of course—just one photo wasn't nearly enough. But this time he really had him.

"Huh?" At that Gary stirred slightly in his bed, peering at Ismael through half-lidded eyes. "What the—man, what are you doing? Don't you know it's Saturday? Don't tell me you've been up all night."

"I did get some sleep," Ismael replied. That was mostly true; even though the sleep had been invaded by nightmares and memories—considering his past it was sometimes hard to tell the difference. He downloaded the picture, along with the caption, onto his laptop's hard drive and then plugged his thumb drive into the USB port. "But this research I'm doing is important."

"Well you're dedicated, I'll give you that." Gary shook his head bemusedly. "Whatever you're doing must be some really fascinating stuff."

"You could say that; what I've found so far is pretty fascinating." Ismael finished storing the info on the thumb drive, taking it out of the USB port and putting it in his pocket. "But I still need more proof. May I ask you another question?"

"Sure." Gary yawned as he slowly rose from the bed. "After all, it's not like I'm going back to bed. You want some coffee?"

"Please, yes." Ismael replied. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, Ismael; that's what roommates are for. So what's the question?"

"If you wanted to prove that someone wasn't who he claimed to be and you needed more evidence, what would you do?"

Gary raised one eyebrow as he opened the plastic coffee canister. "Another hypothetical thing?" He asked. Ismael nodded. "Okay, well, first I guess I'd search on the internet—"

"I've already done that."

"Yeah, you've done that. So, I guess the next move would be to search their house or room—office, even—you know, see if they had any personal things that you could use as proof."

"That makes sense."

"Well, that's what I would do. Hypothetically, anyway." Gary shrugged, spooning coffee into the filter and filling up the coffeemaker's reservoir with bottled water. "Naturally there would be logistics involved. You know, making sure they're out, breaking in without being discovered, stuff like that. But once you'd dealt with that and found more evidence, you'd be able to confront them with it or take it to the authorities."

"Good idea."

Gary grinned. "Hey, I'm full of them. One of these days I'll put some of them into the 'Great American Novel'."

"I'll look forward to reading it," Ismael replied, his mind racing. Breaking into the professor's office or private quarters, he thought—that definitely needed to be his next move. It would be a risky thing to do, of course. If he was caught, he could be arrested, kicked out of school, his student Visa revoked. He'd probably be sent back home, back to his uncle and his mother and what remained of their family farm, his dreams of a better life shattered.

Maybe it wasn't worth it, he thought. He clenched his hands as the knot in his stomach tightened. Maybe it was too much of a risk to take.

Then he looked down at the cover of the book, down at that smug face, and his ire rose.

No, he had to do it. The truth needed to be heard, there was no way that he would allow this fraud to stand. No matter what the risk he needed to find the truth and put it out there. And he needed to share this information with Jenna as well—after all she'd done to help him, she deserved to know what was going on. The only question now was how. She didn't live on campus and he didn't know her home address—even if he did, he had no way to get there.

Email, he thought—he wasn't sure how secure it was, but right now it was the only way. All he needed was her email address. He could even text her and ask her for that—it would be more private that way. He opened the book, seeing her number there on the flyleaf, and grabbed his phone.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**4247 Maplewood Dr. **

**8:45 AM **

"But Grandma, I'm fine," Jenna said, as she limped over to her bed and sat down. "Really—I don't need to rest."

"Yes, you do need to rest," Dotty told her. "Don't argue, Jenna. Your parents told me that you need to stay off that ankle of yours today and I agree."

"But it's getting better. I can put weight on it and everything." Jenna stood up. "See? It's fine."

"Not another word, missy. I swear; you're a worse patient than your father sometimes. You're going to take it easy, and that's that. "

She should've never worn the sandals last night, Jenna thought to herself, looking down at her bandaged ankle, which despite her protests was still throbbing with pain. This never would've happened if she hadn't panicked, if she'd been more careful. Grandma was right though—if she didn't rest it today, she'd only make it worse. Jenna let out her breath in a sigh. "Okay—I'll rest."

"Good. Now you just lie down, prop your leg up, and I'll bring you a fresh ice pack and some breakfast. Do you want your TV on?"

"No, that's okay," Jenna replied, as she lay back against her pillows, propping her ankle up on one of the smaller bed pillows. Saturday morning TV was mostly either cartoons and cooking shows—none of those sounded like they would be fun to watch. "I'll just leave it off right now."

"Well I'll put your remote here next to you just in case you change your mind," Dotty placed the remote on the nightstand.

"Thanks. Can you get my phone too?"

"Yes." She shook her head as she retrieved the phone from Jenna's dresser and handed it to her. "Your generation and its electronics—I don't think I'll ever understand it. Now do you need anything else?"

Jenna shook her head. "No, I'm fine, thanks. I'm sorry for being such a pain."

"You're just fine, Jenna, trust me." Dotty put another pillow underneath Jenna's ankle and smoothed her hair back. "Just rest, and I'll be back with your icepack and breakfast. Okay?"

Jenna smiled. "Okay." Dotty left the room. Jenna could hear her footsteps as she went back down the stairs. She checked her phone. No calls or messages yet, nothing at all. Hopefully something would come soon.

At that moment her phone buzzed in her hand. Maybe it was him—Jenna pressed the green button on her phone and put it against her ear. "Hello?"

"So , she finally answers her phone." Christy's voice. "How are you this morning?"

Christy, Jenna thought, her mind racing. She should've called her earlier—she really had some explaining to do now. "I'm fine," she said. "Just resting my ankle—I twisted it on the stairs last night."

A long silence. "And that's why you didn't come back to the Luau?"

"That's the reason, yeah." Jenna hated lying to her friend, but she couldn't exactly tell her the truth—even if she hadn't made the promise, it would be way too hard to explain. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you—I was just in so much pain that all I thought about was getting home."

"Well, you know I could've helped you to your car, at least."

"I know," Jenna replied. More silence. "Are you really mad at me?"

A noisy sigh from Christy's end. "No," she said. "I mean, not exactly. I'm still kind of getting over being scared to death."

"I'm so sorry."

"I mean, you have no idea what I was thinking, Jenna. When I came out there and I couldn't find you, and Dr. Spencer had your ID and all and you wouldn't even answer your phone—I really didn't know what to think."

Jenna's hand tightened around the phone. "Wait a minute—when Dr. Spencer what? I thought you said you found my ID."

"Yeah, but after he found it first."

"Was there anyone else with him?"

"Not that I saw. It was no big deal—I just told him that it belonged to a friend of mine and he handed it back to me. I'll give it back to you on Monday. Like I said, no big deal."

"You're right, Christy—it's no big deal." Jenna fought to control her breathing, to stay calm. After all, her student ID just had her name, picture and ID number. It wasn't like it had her address or something. He could've memorized the ID and looked her up in the computer, but would he really do that? He had no way of knowing that she'd been listening behind the door. There'd be no reason for him to do something like that. Would there?

She really needed to stop thinking like this.

"Jenna, seriously, is something wrong?" Christy's voice jerked her out of her reverie. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"No." Jenna said quickly. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just really, really sorry about what happened last night."

"Yeah, I know."

"So—do you forgive me?"

Another sigh. "Well, let's see. You definitely owe me, so I might make you grovel and be my slave for a couple of years, and then after that we'll see—"

"Christy!"

Christy laughed. "Yeah, I forgive you. Just don't do anything like that to me again, all right? You scared me half to death."

"I won't, I promise."

"Very good. So how's your ankle?"

"It's a little swollen, just a mild sprain," Jenna replied. "I'm staying off it and hopefully it'll be better by Monday."

"Good idea; ankles are nothing to fool around with." Jenna could hear a voice in the background. "Well, I've got to go, Annabel and I are going to go to the mall. Have a good Saturday, okay? Love ya, bye."

"Love ya too." Jenna hung up the phone just as Dotty came into her bedroom, tray in hand. She placed the tray on Jenna's lap.

"You've got eggs, bacon, toast, hash browns and orange juice," she said.

"Grandma, thank you, it looks delicious," Jenna said.

Dotty smiled, placing the fresh ice pack on Jenna's ankle. "You're very welcome. Who was that on the phone just now? "

"Just Christy," Jenna took a sip of orange juice. "I had to explain why I left her in the lurch last night. I think she understood."

"Darling, of course she did; you two have been friends since kindergarten."

"I know, but I just—I really shouldn't have treated her that way."

"Everyone makes mistakes, Jenna—the important thing is to own up to them. Is there anything else you need right now?"

"No, I'm fine." At that moment Jenna's cell phone gave a loud beep.

Dotty raised her eyebrows. "Another phone call?"

"No, just a text message." Jenna pressed the menu button and went to her inbox, looking at the text:

'Have information to send you, need your email address. Ismael"

"Who's Ismael?" Dotty peered over Jenna's shoulder.

"Oh he's just a new friend of mine," Jenna said, quickly texting her email address back and hitting the reply button. "In my Arabic class—we're working on a group project together and he has some stuff to send me. I guess I forgot to give him my email. Can you hand me my laptop?"

"Here." Dotty picked up the laptop and handed it to Jenna. "Be careful not to get food on it—and don't forget to eat."

"I won't—thanks." Dotty left and went back downstairs and Jenna placed her tray to one side and opened her laptop, quickly entering her password to sign on and logging into her email. Nothing just yet—a couple of junk mails and something reminding her of the Georgetown homecoming game coming up. Then suddenly it was there. Grabbing a piece of bacon, Jenna opened Ismael's message and downloaded the attachments. Her cell phone rang again. It was Ismael. Once again Jenna pressed the green button.

"Hello?"

"It's me," he said. "How's your ankle?"

"It's okay," Jenna said. "Just a little swollen—I'm resting it."

"Good idea. Are you all right to talk?"

"Yeah, I'm alone. I just opened the email."

"Very good. Can you look at the attachments now? Look at the picture first."

"Okay." One of the attachments was a document and the other a photo—Jenna opened the photo and looked at the men dressed in military garb and carrying rifles. "I'm looking at it—who are they?"

"Some of the Interahamwe," Ismael told her. "Look at the man in the middle and then look at the name in the caption underneath."

Jenna looked. The man in the middle looked vaguely familiar, she thought. Like someone she'd seen somewhere before—then it hit her.

"Is that Professor Gatari?" She asked.

"I believe that's exactly who it is," Jenna could hear the excitement in Ismael's voice. "Now look at the name in the caption. Is that the name you heard last night?"

"Joseph Hugama." Jenna read the name aloud. "Ismael, that's it! That's exactly the name I heard." Jenna thought back over what she'd overheard. "Professor Gatari said that he was—something –he said he was intumbi."

"Intumbi was the word you heard?"

Jenna frowned. "I think so. I'm pretty sure that's what it was. What does it mean?"

"Intumbi means buried," Ismael said. "Now look at the document; under Joseph Hugama. Read what it says."

"Okay." Jenna opened the document. "This says, Joseph Hugama, wanted for war crimes, believed deceased."

"Exactly!"

"But if Professor Gatari is really Joseph Hugama, then he's not dead," Jenna replied slowly, taking a bite of her toast. "But wouldn't somebody know?"

"Not necessarily," Ismael said. "Everything was thrown into chaos after the massacre, Jenna. A bunch of people, Interahamwe included, fled to other countries. Many of them died of cholera in the refugee camps. Joseph Hugama may have been wrongfully listed among the dead."

"Sounds like he might have taken someone else's identity."

"That's my guess as well, assuming that there actually was a Professor Gatari to begin with."

"This has to be what Dr. Spencer was trying to blackmail him with."

"That's my guess as well."

"Yeah." Jenna sucked in her bottom lip, her mind racing. "But you're still going to need more proof, though. A picture that resembles him isn't going to be enough."

"I know. That's why I'm going to break into Gatari's personal quarters here on campus, to find more evidence."

"What?" Jenna's voice rose. "Ismael, no—breaking into his quarters is not a good idea."

"Why not? I know that it's taking a risk, but the truth needs to be found."

"It's more than taking a risk; it's breaking the law," Jenna told him. "You could be arrested, kicked out of school, even kicked out of the country if you get caught."

"You don't think I know that? But this is important to me, Jenna. You don't understand."

"I understand that it's not worth it."

"The truth is worth it," Ismael replied firmly. "Exposing a dangerous criminal is worth it."

"And what if you get caught before you even find out the truth?" Jenna asked. "And what happens if this dangerous criminal hurts or even kills you? Have you even thought about that at all?"

She heard him draw in a deep breath and let it out. "Yes," Ismael said. "I've thought about all of that. And I've decided that I'm willing to face it to bring this man to justice."

"What if you fail?"

"Then I fail. But at least I tried." A pause. "There's no other way."

"Yes there is." Jenna fought to keep her voice as calm as possible; upsetting him wouldn't accomplish anything. "We go to the authorities with what we have so far and they help us investigate."

"Right now there's not enough evidence to compel them to investigate anything."

Jenna took a sip of her orange juice. "There's more than what we had before."

"True," Ismael agreed. "But like you said, it's not enough proof. Anyway, there's no guarantee that they won't sweep it under the rug."

"They wouldn't do that."

Ismael laughed harshly. "How would you even know?"

How—she couldn't mention what her parents did for a living, but she needed something—some way she could convince him and talk him out of this. "My parents have contacts in local law enforcement," she replied. "If I tell them what I heard, and show them the picture and the document you gave me, I'm sure I'll have enough to convince them to start something. You don't have to do something drastic."

"Drastic situations require drastic measures." Now Ismael's voice rose. "Jenna, the Interahamwe killed my Aunt and cousin in that church. They attacked me and my mother in our home one night—my father died from malaria because he was denied medication and treatment. As I said before, this is my battle."

"Well if you're caught before you even find anything, your battle will be over and he'll never be brought to justice."

"Maybe I won't be caught."

"Maybe?" Jenna repeated. She drained the last of her orange juice and cut a slice of egg with her fork, popping it into her mouth. "How do you know that? Do you even have any experience with breaking into places? There's got to be another way."

"What other way?"

"We could do some more research about Joseph Hugama and Gatari on the internet," Jenna told him. "Contact someone in Rwanda, maybe—talk to people—find out if Gatari is even a real person. There are lots of things."

Ismael sounded doubtful. "You have a lot more faith in that than I do."

"Just listen, all right? All we need is a little more evidence to take to the authorities. Just a little bit more. But if you get yourself arrested for breaking and entering, we won't have anything at all. Okay?"

"Are you always this stubborn?"

"Usually, yeah. Is it a deal, then?"

He said nothing at first; for a minute Jenna thought he had hung up, but finally he answered.

"Yes, it's a deal. I give you my word that I will not break into his quarters."

Jenna let out her breath in a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"And do you give me your word that you won't tell the authorities until we have more information?"

Jenna nodded. "I'll give you my word."

"Very good," he replied. "And you'll let me know if you find anything out, correct?"

"I will." Jenna ate another piece of her egg. "You'll let me know too, right?"

"Of course I will," Ismael said. "Jenna, I know I said thank you before, but I really want you to know how much I do appreciate this. You didn't have to do all this to help me."

"Well, you know, that's what friends are for, right?" At that a strange sound came from the other end of the line. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said. "It's just been a very long time since anyone's referred to me as a friend—thank you."

Jenna felt her cheeks growing warm. "No problem. Talk to you later, all right? By the way, what's your dorm room number? You never said."

"Room 314, Darnell Hall." Ismael said. "I really must go now, Jenna—goodbye."

"Goodbye." Jenna pressed the red button on her phone, disconnecting the call. She opened the picture again and enlarged it, looking at Joseph Hugama. It wasn't just the uniform and the rifle that made him menacing, but the expression on his face and the look in his eyes—it was the same cold look that she'd seen brief flashes of in class.

"I'd put men in the ground for less…." In her head she could still hear Professor Gatari's voice saying those words. Just imagining all that he had done and what he was capable of doing—the thought sent a small shiver through her body. At least she'd managed to talk Ismael out of his plan. That was one thing she didn't have to worry about.

There was still research to be done, though—all she needed was a little more information and then she could tell her parents about this—she really hated not being able to say anything. Jenna minimized the picture, opening her browser and going directly to Google, typing in Joseph Hugama in quotes and then Rwanda, pressing enter. Over 200 results, she thought, blowing out her breath in frustration. This was going to take forever. Still, that's what research was, though—there was no shortcut.

"One foot in front of the other, Jenna," she murmured to herself. It was the only way to do this.

She clicked on the first result.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**Georgetown University **

**10:15 AM **

'9/1/07—Professor Jean-Baptiste Gatari will be appearing at the Barnes and Noble in Rockville, MD from 10 AM to 2:30 PM. There he will be conducting a brief talk and a Q & A session about his experiences as a genocide survivor, followed by a book signing. Light refreshments will be offered. For further details and directions, please call (555) 882-2526.'

It was lucky that Professor Gatari had a website with an itinerary of scheduled appearances, Ismael thought, his lips turning up in a smile. Not that he would have expected less from a publicity hound like him. Now he knew for certain when he'd be off campus. He had promised Jenna that he wouldn't break into the man's private quarters—a promise that he fully intended to keep. He hadn't, however, promised that he wouldn't search Gatari's office.

Wasn't he still technically breaking his promise though? Ismael felt a slight twinge of guilt as he remembered the concern in Jenna's voice—and the way she'd called him a friend. No one had called him that, not in a very long time. Wouldn't he be breaking her trust by doing this?

He had to. He'd been searching on the internet for most of the night, with the picture and document being the only thing to show for it. If he wanted further information he needed to go directly to the source. And the office would probably be much easier than the private quarters, since office space was shared by multiple professors and they were often unlocked during the day. If he was caught by anyone, he could always make up an excuse about having a meeting with the professor and getting the date wrong,

"Here you go—breakfast." Gary plunked the protein bar down on the desk. "Though if you ask me, it's not much of one, but that's what was in the vending machine. You sure that's all you want?"

Ismael nodded. "I'm sure, thank you." He unwrapped the bar and took a bite. "What are your plans for today?"

"There was a girl I met at the luau last night—cute girl named Maxie." Gary replied. "We're probably going to spend the afternoon walking around Georgetown and then take in dinner and a movie." He opened his drawer and pulled out a black t-shirt. "What do you think about this?"

Ismael never knew what to say about clothes. "It's not bad."

Gary grinned, taking off his other shirt and pulling the black one over his head. He slid his feet into his sneakers. "Not bad is okay by me. So how about yourself? Any plans?"

"Going to have a quiet day, I think." Ismael kept his voice carefully casual. "Reading, studying—that sort of thing."

"On a nice day like this? You sure?"

"Yes, I'm very sure."

A shrug. "Live and let live. Sure hope that project of yours goes off well after all my suggestions," Gary told him. "Don't work too hard, though. You know what they say about all work and no play."

"Don't worry," Ismael told him. "I'll be just fine. Hope you have a good day."

"You too, bye." With that Gary was out the door.

There was no time to waste, Ismael thought as he rose to his feet. The sooner he did this and got out of there, the better. He grabbed his book bag and emptied his books out onto his bed—any evidence he found could be hidden in here, and his cell phone had a camera. He placed his cell phone inside the little pocket in the front of his bag. He grabbed his notebook and a pen as well, just in case he needed to write something down, and threw that in the bag as well. Those things were really all that he needed—he just hoped it would be worth his while. If he went through all this and found nothing….

'There's only one way to find out' he told himself. He drew a deep breath in and out, trying to calm his nerves. Shouldering his bag, he went out the door.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

***For disclaimers, please see Chapter One. Hope you enjoy :) * **

**Chapter Seven**

**Healy Hall**

**Saturday, September 1, 2007**

**10:45 AM **

A secretary was sitting there as Ismael pushed open the door to the offices of the language department. She looked up at from her work and smiled at him.

"Yes?" She asked. "May I help you?"

Help him—Ismael's mind raced, trying to think of what he could tell her. He hadn't expected to see a secretary today. "I'm looking for Professor Gatari," he managed finally. "I'm a student of his and there were some Arabic texts he promised to lend me."

"Oh I'm so sorry," the secretary said. "But I'm afraid he's out of the office for today."

"Are you sure?" Ismael asked. "He promised he'd be able to give it to me this morning."

"Oh, I'm sure," the woman replied. "He's at a book signing. He should be back later this afternoon, though. You can see him then."

"That's nice," Ismael said. "But I really do need those texts. You see, the paper's due on Monday. Here's my student ID." He took his wallet out of his pocket and handed it to her.

A small frown appeared between her eyebrows as she studied the ID and then looked up at him. "A paper due during the first week?"

"It's just—it's a paper for extra credit," he told her. "But I really do need those books, and he said they would be waiting for me. Can't I just go office so I can just get it for myself?"

"I'm afraid that wouldn't be possible," she said. "The professor usually leaves his office locked."

"You mean you don't have a key?"

"Well, I do, of course." The secretary was clearly flustered now. "At least, I know where it is. I'm only here till noon, you see. But I'm not supposed to just let—" At that moment the phone rang.

"Just a minute," she told him, picking up the phone. "Yes? Now? Are you sure?" he heard her sigh. "Oh all right, I'll be right there." She hung up the phone and turned to him. "I'm sorry, but I really have to go."

"I understand," he said. "But could you still just let me into his office? Those books are very important to me and time is of the essence."

"Well, I'm really not supposed to do this—" She looked at him and let out another sigh. "Oh all right," she relented. "But as soon as you get your books you need to be out of here."

"I will. Thank you very much." This was going to work, Ismael thought. It was all going smoothly so far. He followed her as she went to the door and unlocked it.

"I really do have to go now," she said. "You won't be long?"

"No, I won't be long. Thank you." He listened to the sound of her footsteps as she walked away, the main door opening and closing. Alone at last, he let out a sigh of relief.

Ismael's eyes scanned the small but tidy office, taking in the desk, bookcase and armchair that held a small stack of magazines. The walls were covered with pictures of Professor Gatari shaking hands with various celebrities and politicians. Considering what a publicity hound the professor was, Ismael wouldn't have expected anything less.

Where should he start his search? He began with a cursory check of the top of the desk, taking in the various memos, official letters, lesson plan book and an invitation to an evening reception for another professor celebrating the tenth anniversary of his tenure. A stack of phone numbers was held down by a large black crystal paperweight. No computer or laptop, though that wasn't exactly a shock—from what Ismael had heard the professor was not a big fan of technology. Someone still had to update that website, though. Perhaps his assistant Margo did that for him? Still, there wasn't anything of importance there, but that was hardly surprising—even with his door locked, the professor wouldn't be stupid enough to leave something incriminating where anyone could find it.

The bookcase was next—he knelt down, studying the volumes. A few texts in Arabic and French and a couple of old textbooks on Islamic and African history and culture. Pretty usual for a professor in that field. The bottom shelf held nothing but copies of the professor's own book—idly Ismael wondered if Gatari gave copies away or was simply buying them to drive up local sales. Still nothing suspicious, though. Ismael rose to his feet and walked back over to the desk. If there was anything here to find, he thought, it was most likely to be in here.

The only question was where. The narrow drawer directly underneath the desktop only held a tray containing an assortment of pens, yellow post-it notes, unsharpened pencils, paper clips, thumbtacks and staples. There were three drawers on the left. The top drawer yielded only more letters and memos and a few printouts of student records, his and Jenna's included. The records struck him as being a bit odd, but perhaps not—it was probably standard practice for a teacher starting with a new class and getting to know his students. The middle drawer held copies of basic administrative forms, all in triplicate, along with a couple of spare toner cartridges, probably for the printer out in the main office. Ismael completed his search and shut the drawer.

Next came the third drawer. This could be the one, he thought. He pulled at it but it wouldn't open. Locked? Only there wasn't any lock, not that he could see. Maybe it was jammed. He jiggled the handle vigorously. It opened slightly then, but not nearly enough. If something was jamming the drawer, he couldn't force it. That would only make things worse. He wiped his forehead and let out his breath in a hiss of frustration

'When something doesn't work one way, turn it upside down and try again.' His Uncle had said that to him once. On sudden inspiration he reached under the desk and felt back behind the drawer, feeling something large and bulky. Maybe that's what was blocking it? At first the object wouldn't budge, but finally he was able to shift it and push it onto its side. He pulled the handle again and the drawer opened smoothly. Ismael knelt down to investigate

Stacks of wrapped printing paper and more yellow post-its—that was all that he could see at first. There had to be more than that, though—he was running out of places to look. Quickly he lifted the office supplies up and out of the way and then he saw it—a medium sized ornate wooden box. This had to be something. Ismael's heart pounded quickly as he opened the box's lid. The box was full of all sorts of things, he realized as he sifted through them. Lots of jewelry—men's and women's rings, necklaces, brooches, pocket watches, lockets—various odds and ends. It was funny—he never would've thought of Gatari as a jewelry collector. There were also postcards, letters—and photographs. He grabbed a small stack of photos and sifted through them.

"Yes," he murmured to himself, recognizing the same group of men that he had seen in the internet photo, including Gatari/ Hugama. Several of the photos even had writing on the bottom or on the back, identifying the people pictured. This was exactly what he needed. Pulling out his phone typed out a text:

'More evidence found. More photos found. Will send pictures and call you later and give you all the information—Ismael.'

He thought about taking pictures of the photos and sending them to Jenna but those tended to turn out poorly—it would be easier to simply scan them later at the library. He put his phone back in the top front compartment of his bag and zipped it back up, and unzipped the other compartment of his bag and placed the photos inside. He shut the lid on the box and was just about to put everything back and leave when something caught his eye—a gold pocket watch. It was like the other odds and ends in the box, except that something about it seemed familiar, somehow. Ismael's hands closed around the object, his fingers shaking as he opened it, reading the inscription tucked inside:

'_Pour Ismael—mon fils.'_

For my son. This was his, Ismael realized—his father's present to him on his fourth birthday. He swallowed very hard, turning the object over in his hands. In his mind's eye he could still see the watch clutched in his papa's calloused hands that day, gleaming as he had handed it to him:

_"Too big for you now, of course," he'd told him, lifting him into the air. "But one day, Ismael, you will wear it with pride." _

It had gone missing soon after that, Ismael thought. Forgotten in all the chaos; and by the time he'd moved to be with his uncle he'd assumed it was lost forever. But how had Gatari gotten a hold of it? What was he doing with it—with any of these things? It didn't make sense.

Soft footsteps sounded behind him. Someone was there—before Ismael could turn around, something heavy hit him on the back of his head. Ismael felt a sharp pain, and then his world was plunged into darkness.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

Paperweight in hand, Professor Gatari stood there, breathing hard as he'd stared down at Ismael's unconscious body. Predator and prey, he thought—in the end, that's what life always came down to. And prey was something that he was never going to be. Placing the paperweight back on the desk, Gatari knelt down beside the young man and placed two fingers on the side of his neck, feeling for a pulse. There it was, faint but steady. Something was clutched tightly in the young man's hand, prying it open he discovered the gold pocket watch.

"So your son has caught up to me at last, Alphonse," Gatari murmured, turning it over in his hands before placing it in his pocket. "Something will have to be done about that." Ismael gave a soft groan, his eyelids fluttering slightly, but not quite opening. He had to act fast, Gatari realized; he wasn't going to remain unconscious for long.

"What—what happened?"

Margo's voice. Gatari turned around to see his assistant standing there in the doorway, her dark eyes wide.

"Shut the door," he told her.

"But he's injured," Margo said. "Shouldn't we get somebody to help?"

"Do I have to tell you twice, girl?" Gatari practically snarled the words. "Now shut that door and lock it, quickly!"

"All right." Margo quickly did as she was told. "Would you please tell me why we're doing this, though? What is he doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious? He was breaking into my office, probably sent by my enemies to discredit me."

"Oh." Margo's expression cleared as comprehension dawned. "You mean that he's working with Dr. Spencer?"

"Very probably—I told you that he had allies, didn't I?" Ismael groaned again. "Help me get him into this chair now—we need to restrain him."

"He's really that dangerous?"

"All of my enemies are that dangerous. Come along, now. We have no time to waste."

"All right. You know it's a good thing that the book signing was cancelled due to the power outage," Margo said as she pushed the magazines onto the floor and helped Gatari to lift Ismael into the chair. "Otherwise we might never have found out what he was up to."

"Yes, that was rather fortuitous." Gatari took off his red silk tie and used it to restrain the young man's wrists. It was a shame that it had to be used for this purpose. Still, he could always buy others. He removed the handkerchief from his top pocket and used it as a gag, securing the ends tightly around the back of Ismael's head. Ismael struggled slightly but he was too weak to put up much of a fight. His eyes remained closed. "Search his bag for me—see what he has."

"Okay." Margo knelt beside the bag and opened it, looking inside. "There's a notebook and pen— not much in the notebook, apart from some class notes. Oh and some photos here." She pulled those out. "I guess these were what he was planning to use those against you?"

"No doubt. I'll take those, if you don't mind." He plucked them from her hand and slipped them inside his suit pocket. "Is there anything else in that bag?"

Margo shook her head. "No, not that I can see."

"Very good."

"I just don't understand it, though." Margo said. "You've made some mistakes, Jean-Baptiste, but you've also done many wonderful things. Why would someone go to all this trouble to do this to you?"

"Haven't you listened to what I've told you before, Margo? The great ones in life are often measured by their enemies."

"I know, it's just still unbelievable to me." She stood, facing him. "Despite it all, you're still a good man."

He smiled, reaching out his hand to caress the side of her face and neck. "Well, that is because you have such a good heart." Leaning forward, he bent his head down and kissed her softly. "Sadly, though, everyone is not the same as you."

"That's true," Margo said. Ismael let out another groan and she looked down at him. "What are we going to do with him now? Turn him over to the police?"

"Perhaps later," Gatari replied. "First though, I'd like to pump him for information, see who he's working with and exactly what he knows."

Margo's brow furrowed slightly. "But why do we need to do that? Don't we already know that he's working with Dr. Spencer?"

"Might be." Gatari said. "But I have other enemies out there as well—I prefer to know precisely who I'm facing."

"But surely the police could find that out, couldn't they?"

"The police." Gatari shook his head. "They wouldn't even know what questions to ask. Trust me; my methods are much more effective than theirs."

"I don't know. What we're doing—it's kidnapping." Margo sounded doubtful. "That's a federal offense and he's just some freshman kid—I don't know if we should—" her voice broke off in a gasp as Gatari reached out and grabbed her wrist, squeezing tightly.

"I've told you before, haven't I?" His voice came out in a hiss. "Don't question my authority in these matters."

"I—I know that, Jean-Baptiste," Margo's voice trembled, her face suddenly pale. "I don't mean to do that, but I'm just not so sure about this course of action. If we get caught—"

"We won't get caught, I promise." His tone softened—he released her wrist. Leaning forward, he kissed her once more. "When the time is right, Margo, we will go to the proper authorities. But for now, just trust me on this. You do trust me, don't you?"

She nodded. "Of course I trust you. I love you."

"Good girl."

"And we'll be together in the end—won't we?"

"Forever, yes." Another kiss. "We will be together. And everything I possess—everything you've wanted—it's all going to be yours too."

"I've never had much, you know." Her tone turned wistful. "Dad was out of the picture and Mom was always working, it always seemed like there never was enough to go around, you know?"

"Well soon you won't have to worry about that anymore."

"How soon?" she asked.

"Quite soon," he assured her. "All you need to do is be patient, and it will happen."

She smiled. "I believe you. And I'm with you, all the way. So what do we do next? "

"Well, obviously we can't keep him in here for too long, he's sure to be discovered." Gatari looked over at Ismael. He had lost consciousness once more, his head slumping forward. "We'll need to move him to my rooms but we should do it at night—there will be less risk of discovery then."

"Someone might still see, though," Margo said. "It's Saturday night, a lot of people might notice us carrying somebody."

"Yes, you do have a point." Gatari's mind raced. What he needed was something to keep Ismael quiet and compliant, but still partly conscious—at least long enough to get him across campus. "What about that drug I've heard about –rohypnol?"

"Roofies?" Margo asked. "Yeah, those would probably do the trick—we could dissolve the tablets in something and make him drink it—he wouldn't even taste it."

"That would be excellent. Do you know where you can get some of that?"

"I think I know someone who sells them on campus—I'll talk to him."

"Excellent." From outside they could hear the faint voice of the secretary—she must have just returned. "You should probably go now," he told Margo. "The sooner you get what we need, the better. And make sure you tell the secretary that I don't wish to be disturbed by anything."

"I will do that," Margo said. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Thank you," Gatari said. Margo left and he bent over Ismael, grabbing the young man's chin roughly and forcing his head upward. His eyes fluttered, staring up at him, the pupils unfocused. Gatari squeezed his chin until Ismael gave a soft cry of pain.

"So now you're caught, young Ismael," he murmured. "And just what are we going to do with you now?"

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**4247 Maplewood Dr. **

**2:15 PM **

'Ismael? What did you find? Please get back to me ASAP' Jenna tapped out the text on her phone and pressed the send key. The second text message she'd sent him in the last hour and still no reply from him. She refreshed her email, hoping there might be a new message from him but there was nothing there either. Jenna looked again at the text he had sent her:

'More evidence found. More photos found. Will send pictures and call you later and give you all the information—Ismael.'

That had been over two hours ago, she thought. Over two hours and still nothing—no pictures, no emails, no calls—absolutely nothing. Maybe she was being too impatient, though. After all, she was stuck in this bed with her ankle iced and wrapped when she really wanted to be there at Georgetown, helping Ismael with his research. Her own research of Joseph Hugama had garnered nothing more than a laundry list of crimes he was wanted for. Mass murders, rapes, tortures—just reading through the details was enough to make her feel sick and cold inside. Still, apart from the photo she hadn't found any more evidence—nothing to prove that Hugama and Gatari were the same person. She stared down at her phone, silently willing it to ring.

She really was being too impatient, she thought. He had the information and he was going to get it to her—she had to trust him on that. At least she had managed to talk him out of breaking into Gatari's office or private quarters—thank God, that was one thing that she didn't have to worry about.

Her phone gave a sudden beep. A new text—maybe this was what she'd been waiting for. Her heart pounding, Jenna opened her inbox and read the message:

'Free trans-mobile msg: Time is running out on this incredible offer! Please respond by 10/2 for this incredible deal!'

Stupid, stupid junk text. Jenna exhaled loudly in frustration as she deleted it. Putting her phone aside she reopened the window where she'd been playing solitaire on her laptop, but it was no good—her mind just didn't seem to want to focus on the game. The TV was on with the sound down—some action adventure movie with Jean Claude Van Damme—he was busy having a shootout with a gang of bad guys, taking them out and dodging their bullets effortlessly. Somehow she doubted that it would ever be that easy in real life. She heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs—dad's footsteps. Hurriedly she closed the laptop and placed it beside her as he entered the room.

"Hey there, Dad," she said.

"Hey there yourself." He bent down to give her a hug. "So, how are you doing?"

"Okay, kind of bored, I guess."

"Yeah, I know. How's your ankle feeling?"

"About the same, just between my leg and my foot." Jenna smiled. "Seriously, though, it feels fine."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said. "You know it's still a good idea to rest it, though. Trust me; ankles are nothing to fool around with."

Jenna sighed. "I know that. But it's still boring."

"Looks like you have plenty to entertain yourself with." Lee sat down on the side of her bed. "What have you been doing?"

"I played on the computer a little bit—now I'm watching this movie." Jenna pointed to the screen, where Van Damme was now on horseback, taking aim at a guy who was pursuing him in a helicopter, shooting the guy directly in the chest. "Is it even possible for someone to do something like that?"

"Shooting a moving target from a moving target?" Lee shook his head. "No, not very likely. Why are you watching it with the sound down?"

Jenna shrugged. "It doesn't seem to matter either way. There's really not much else on."

"I see." Lee paused. "Your grandmother told me that you were working on something earlier—some kind of school project?"

He was trying to keep his voice casual but Jenna could see the concern in his eyes—she knew what he was really trying to ask her about. "Well—sort of," she said finally. "I mean, I told her it was for school, but it's more to do with what we were talking about last night."

"What you're investigating, you mean."

Jenna nodded. "Something to do with that, yeah. Dad, I'm sorry. I really wish I could tell you more. I'm not trying to lie to you."

"Hey, I understand," Lee told her. "It really is okay."

"I just hate this—not being able to say anything."

"I know. Have you found out anything else?"

Jenna shook her head. "No—not on my end, at least. I did get a text from him saying that he had more information, but he hasn't gotten back to me yet."

"How long ago was that?" Lee asked.

"Over two hours ago—it feels like forever."

"Give it time. I know it's not easy, but you have to be patient."

"That's easier said than done," Jenna remarked drily.

Her dad laughed. "Oh, believe me, I know that. But you'll learn it in time."

"Yeah." Jenna let out another sigh. "I just keep thinking."

"Thinking what?"

"That maybe if I hadn't panicked and done this to my ankle, I could be over there now, helping him with all this."

He looked down at her, his expression suddenly serious. "Did you really think you were in danger last night?"

"Honestly? I don't know." Jenna thought back to the terror she had felt last night as she'd raced across campus, imagining someone in pursuit, ready to grab her. "At the time I thought I might be, but I didn't really think about it too much. I just kind of reacted, and this is what happened." She wiggled her foot.

"Well you have to trust your instincts, munchkin. Sometimes that's all you have to go by."

"That's true." Going by your instincts, Jenna thought—that was something that her parents probably had to do a lot in their profession—something that she would need to learn herself, if she was going into that field. Based on what she'd learned about Joseph Hugama, though, maybe running had been the right decision. "So I should just wait for him to get back to me, right?"

"That's what I would do. And you promise that you'll come to us the minute you have something?"

"I promise. Love you, dad."

"Love you too." He kissed her forehead and stood. "Get some rest, okay? Don't drive yourself crazy. Do you want me to get you anything?"

"No, I'm fine—thanks." Lee left the room and went downstairs and Jenna picked up her cell phone, looking again for any new messages and calls—still nothing. There would be something soon, though.

There just had to be.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

***For disclaimers, please see Chapter One. Hope you enjoy :)* **

**Chapter Eight**

**Georgetown University**

**Saturday, September 1, 2007**

**7:30 PM **

"You certainly took your time," Professor Gatari said as Margo came back into the office, paper bag in hand. "Do you realize that the longer we take, the greater our risk of discovery?"

"Well it took some time to locate a dealer." Margo's tone was slightly defensive. "I did the best I could, Jean-Baptiste."

He waved his hand dismissively. "No matter now. Do you have what we need?"

Margo nodded. "Right here." She pulled out a blister pack containing about twelve tablets and a can of 7-Up. "It should dissolve quite easily in the soda."

"Why soda and not alcohol?"

"Alcohol would make the drug work faster, but it might cause him to lose consciousness more quickly—especially with his head injury."

"Good point," Gatari conceded. "We don't want him passing out just yet. How much do we give him?"

"My source told me we should give him two tablets if we want to keep him compliant but mobile for a while." She looked over at Ismael slumped in the armchair, his wrists tied and the gag still around his mouth. "How is he doing?"

"Still in and out, though he's remaining conscious for longer periods." Gatari grabbed Ismael's hair, pulling his head roughly upright—the young man groaned—his eyelids fluttered briefly but didn't completely open. "I'm afraid I gave him quite a blow."

"Well he did break into your office, after all. You had to defend yourself."

"Yes, that's very true. Can you dissolve the tablets now? I don't believe we have any more time to waste."

"Doing it now." Margo opened the tab of the soda and placed it on the table. She then popped open two of the blister packs with her fingernail, letting the white tablets drop into the fizzy liquid. "I'd give it a moment or two. It won't take long. "

Gatari patted Ismael's face rapidly. "Come on now," he told him. "Open those eyes of yours and wake up—ah, there he is," he said as the young man's eyes opened and focused. "I'm going to take off your gag now. You can scream if you like, since there's no one out there who can hear you, but be warned—if you scream too loudly, I might lose control, and that would cause you more pain. Do we understand one another? Nod if you understand me."

Ismael nodded.

"Very good." He untied the gag. Ismael swallowed and grimaced in pain but didn't scream.

"Drink this." Gatari grabbed the can of soda, placing it against his lips.

"What is it?" Ismael's voice came out in a raspy whisper.

"Just a soda. Drink now, it will help with the dryness." Ismael sipped the drink obediently—a few droplets dribbled down his neck.

"Very good. Just a little more—that's right." Ismael drank a bit more and the professor put the soda aside, taking a seat on the footstool facing him.

"Well, Mr. Bahati," he said. "And how are you feeling?"

"You knocked me on the head—how do you think I'm feeling?"

A slight chuckle. "Not too well, I expect. Would mind telling me what it is you came in here for?"

"I just—I came here for a book."

"A book?" Gatari raised his eyebrows. "Then why were you looking in my desk drawers?"

"I was having trouble finding the book. Look, I don't understand why you're doing this, but—" his voice broke off as Gatari's hand closed around his throat—tightly enough to cause pressure but not completely cut off his airway. Gatari leaned close to him.

"Don't try to lie to me," he hissed. "I know why you were here and I saw what you were looking at. Lie to me and it will go worse for you." His hand squeezed a bit more tightly, watching as the young man began to gasp. "Understand me?" He released his grasp suddenly, watching with satisfaction as Ismael doubled over, coughing.

"I'm glad we understand one another," Gatari told him. "Drink some more of the soda now."

Ismael held up his bound hands. "It's a little hard for me to drink anything like this."

"Oh, I was forgetting my manners, wasn't I?" Gatari untied the silk tie from around Ismael's wrists and thrust the soda into his hand. "Now drink."

Ismael's hands wrapped around the soda—he took a long swallow, gulping the liquid down. "What—what are you going to do with me?"

"Exactly what do you think I should do with you?" Gatari asked. "After all, you broke into my office, Ismael. You were going through my private possessions. You even stole some photographs of mine. I have every right to protect my property and to detain you."

"Not without calling the police."

"You really want me to call the police? Have your student visa revoked and get you sent back home?" Ismael didn't reply, looking down and away from him. "Perhaps you'd be more amenable to a private chat instead, just between the two of us? How does that sound?"

"No." Ismael took another swallow of the soda. "People will be looking for me—you won't get away with keeping me here against my will."

The professor laughed softly. "Who will be looking for you? You have no family here; no close friends and your roommate will probably think that you just went out for the evening." He paused. "Unless there's someone else you're working with, Ismael. An accomplice, perhaps? Someone you'd care to tell me about?"

Ismael shook his head. "No—no, there's no one else. No accomplices. It's only me."

"For your sake and theirs I hope that's true." Gatari could see a hint of fear now in the young man's eyes. Was he holding something back? At the moment he couldn't be sure. "But I'm afraid that you still have a question to answer."

Ismael took a few more sips. "What question is that?"

"The question of what exactly you were doing here. Would you like to share that with me?"

"I've told you that already—I was looking for a book." He took another sip of the soda. "That's the whole story."

"And you were in my drawers because you thought the book might be there?"

"That's correct."

"We'll see about that." Gatari leaned closer. "You might be singing a different tune before too long."

Ismael frowned, putting a hand to his head as he stared at the professor. "What—what are you talking about?"

"About the drug that I slipped into your soda."

"Drug?" Ismael repeated. "What did you—I don't know—"

"Here, let me take that from you—your poor hand is trembling so much you might just drop it." Deftly Gatari plucked the soda from his grasp and handed it to Margo, who stood nearby.

"Dispose of that," he told her. "I think he's ready to move."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

It almost felt like a dream, Ismael thought to himself as he was half led, half carried out of the building and into the chilly night air. Almost as if he was out of his body, watching this happen to somebody else. His head still throbbed slightly, but it was a dull ache, just barely there now. The ground seemed to swim and sway beneath his feet as he moved slowly down the steps, supported by Gatari on one side and Margo on the other. Ismael felt a rise of nausea in his throat and swallowed hard, fighting to keep it down as he moved across the quad. The last thing he wanted to do was throw up in front of these people. All around him he could hear the sound of voices, laughter and shouts.

"Jesus, what happened to him?" A voice called out. "He looks wasted."

"Too much partying," he heard Margo say. More laughter greeted that statement.

"Watch the partying, dude," another voice said. "You'll have a hell of a hangover in the morning."

"Don't worry," Margo said. "We will. Bye now."

"Look up when you walk." Gatari's voice sounded in his ear. His hand held Ismael's arm in a bruising grip. "That will help with any nausea. And don't even think of calling out for help, or you're a dead man."

Ismael looked up, trying to focus on the buildings, but even they were swaying back and forth. He fastened his gaze on the moon. It had been full just a few nights ago—now it nearly looked like a half-circle, bright and yellow.

'Keep your eyes on the moon.' His mother had told him when he was just a youngster and afraid to go to sleep, afraid of the strange shadows in the darkness. 'As long as you can see the moon, you'll be safe.'

Safe, Ismael thought bitterly. How very wrong she had been.

"We're here." Ismael heard Margo's voice again, much fainter this time. "—your key?"

"Here." Professor Gatari's voice again. Ismael heard the sound of a key being turned in the lock and then the door opened and he was inside.

"—bed for now—talk in the morning—" Ismael was dimly aware of being placed on something soft. The last thing he saw was Margo's face hovering in front of him, her eyes like dark pools before the world faded away.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**4247 Maplewood Dr. **

**Sunday, September 2, 2007 **

**7:15 AM **

_"I'm afraid you're not going to live to expose me." Gun in hand, Professor Gatari stood over the young man's battered body. Ismael looked up at him, his face bloodied, dark eyes full of fear as the professor leveled the gun directly at his head. _

_"Please—" Ismael whispered. _

_Gatari shook his head. "Begging will do you no good. Goodbye, Ismael." His finger tightened on the trigger—a single shot rang out—_

"Ismael, no!"

Jenna called out the words as she sat straight up in bed, her heart pounding. In her bed—for a few moments she sat there, looking around her room, the morning sun streaming in through her curtains as her breathing slowed and her heartbeat went back to normal.

'Only a dream.' Except that it had felt so real. And Ismael—Jenna's eyes fell on her phone, sitting next to her. She picked it up, letting out a sigh as she stared at the screen. No missed calls and no messages—nothing at all. Maybe he'd left her an email? She got off the bed and stood, grimacing slightly as her ankle gave a little twinge and walked over to her laptop, opening it and turning it on. She entered her password and opened her email. Nothing there either.

'He should have gotten back to me by now.' Maybe she could call him. Picking up her phone again she quickly dialed the number he had texted her from. The phone rang and rang, followed by a recording:

"The person you are calling at 555-702-7123 is not available. To leave a message, please press 1, or wait for the tone. To leave a callback number, please press 5 now—"

"Damn!" Jenna disconnected the call, her hands shaking, letting the phone drop on the dresser. Something was definitely wrong here—she could just feel it. What if he had broken into Gatari's quarters after all? She'd told him not to do it, but still—it was possible. Whatever had happened, though, Ismael had to be in some sort of trouble. She couldn't afford to wait any longer. She had to get over to Georgetown as soon as possible—see what was going on. It was Darnell Hall, wasn't it? Room three-hundred something—she really should've written it down yesterday, but it didn't matter—she'd knock on every door if she had to. Jenna took off her pajamas and quickly pulled on some jeans and a sweatshirt and a pair of socks from her drawer. Her right tennis shoe felt a little tight going on over the ankle bandage, but it fit. She ran a brush through her hair and grabbed her purse and car keys, tossing her phone into her purse. She half-walked, half-limped down the stairs and towards the front door, unlocking it and pulling it open. Thankfully, everyone was still asleep—that way she didn't have to make any explanations.

"Jenna?"

Her mom's voice. Jenna turned to see her standing right behind her.

"Sweetheart, where are you going?" Amanda asked.

About a dozen possible stories when through Jenna's head before she finally decided on the truth. "I'm going to go to Georgetown to check on something," she replied. "To check on someone, I mean. I just want to make sure that he's okay and then I'll come right back."

"Someone?" Amanda repeated. "Is the same someone that you're doing your investigation with?"

Jenna nodded. "He sent me a text yesterday around noon telling me that he had something and he still hasn't gotten back to me yet. I just want to check on him."

"Do you think he's in some kind of danger?"

"I don't know—I don't think so. I mean, he could be, but I'm really not sure." Her words felt as jumbled up as her thoughts. "All I know is that he should've gotten back to me by now."

"Maybe your dad and I should drive you there instead."

"No. Mom, I promised him. I want to go by myself."

"Jenna—"

"Listen—I swear when I get home I'll tell you and Dad everything, but right now I really do need to go and check on him. Please?"

Amanda stood there for a few moments, just looking at her daughter. Finally she nodded. "All right, as long as you promise to be careful, and to tell us everything when you get home."

"I will, I promise."

"Do have your phone with you?"

"I have it."

"Good. And here—take this." Amanda grabbed a cane from the umbrella stand and handed it to Jenna. "You're still limping, and when you come home you're still going to need to take it easy on that ankle. Okay?"

"Okay. Thanks." Jenna hugged her tightly. "I love you, Mom. I promise I'll be right back."

"Love you too, sweetheart." Amanda stood there, watching at the front door as Jenna got into her car and pulled out of the driveway, disappearing down the street.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**Georgetown University**

**7:55 AM **

Room 314. This was the room that the Residential Advisor had given her. The elevators were out of order today—Jenna was grateful for the cane—she never would've made it this far otherwise. She knocked sharply on the door.

"What the hell?" A guy's voice—it didn't sound like Ismael's. Jenna knocked again, and she heard him groan.

"All right, all right—I'm coming!" Jenna heard a scuffling sound followed by footsteps—the door opened and a tall blond guy wearing nothing but boxers and a robe stared at Jenna.

"Yeah?" he said shortly, tying his robe. "What do you want?"

"I'm sorry to bother you this early," Jenna replied. "But I was wondering if you'd seen Ismael."

"Ismael?" The guy shook his head. "No, not since some time yesterday morning. Why?"

"Well we were working on a project together and I haven't been able to get in touch with him," Jenna explained. "Can I come in?"

He grinned. "Sure." He stepped to one side, allowing Jenna to enter, and closed the door behind her. He stared at her cane. "What happened to your leg?"

"Nothing, it's just my ankle—I sprained it a little."

"Happens to the best of us," He said. "I've had my share of sprains. Name's Gary, by the way—Gary Conway. And you are?"

"I'm Jenna Stetson." Jenna looked around the room as she spoke. The neater side of the room was probably Ismael's she guessed—Gary's side was littered with cans and discarded clothing. There was a closed laptop on Ismael's desk, a Coke can placed to one side, along with the book she'd lent him. A pile of textbooks lay on his bed, like they'd been dumped there.

"Jenna, huh?" Gary's grinned widened. "Nice to meet you. Ismael didn't tell me that he was working with a girl—no wonder he was so studious all of the sudden. Can I offer you anything? Soda or maybe coffee?"

"No thanks," Jenna said. "You're telling me you haven't seen Ismael at all since yesterday morning?"

"That's what I'm telling you, yeah."

"Did he tell you were he was going?"

"When I left he was still here," Gary told her. "It was a little after ten in the morning."

"So you don't know exactly when he left the dorm, then." Jenna's mind raced. "And you haven't heard from him at all?"

Gary shrugged. "No, but that's not a huge surprise."

"Why not?"

"Well I told him to get out and have a little fun," Gary said. "Maybe he took me up on my offer and got lucky or something. Some gals really go for those studious types, you know?" He paused. "Is that the type you go for?"

Jenna ignored the last question. "But he hasn't been answering his phone or his texts. Don't you think that's a little strange?"

"Well, if he got lucky with some girl, he wouldn't answer calls or texts from some other girl—at least I know I wouldn't if I was him." He moved closer to Jenna as he spoke. "It's a bad idea, you know? I mean, would you like your guy talking to other girls?"

"No, probably not." Jenna took a step back, away from him. She walked over to Ismael's desk, her eyes scanning the general area. "What about his laptop? Do you think he might have information on there?"

"Might," Gary conceded. "But I can already tell you that you won't be able to get it—the information is password protected."

"Do you know what the password is?"

"Nope, no idea. But like I said, he probably spent the night with some hottie—happens all the time. He'll be back."

This was a waste of time, Jenna realized—Gary wasn't telling her anything useful, and he wasn't actually listening to her at all. She needed to get back home, let her parents know what was going on. "Listen," she told him. "I've really got to go now." At that moment a knock sounded on the door.

"Getting to be like Grand Central Station in here," Gary muttered. "Just one minute, Jenna—okay?"

"Okay," Jenna said. Gary opened the door and Margo Andersen stood there.

"Sorry to bother you again," she said, as she entered the room. "I just wanted to—" her voice broke off, her dark eyes widening as she saw Jenna. "Oh I'm sorry—I didn't realize you had company. Jenna, isn't it? I know you from Professor Gatari's class."

"That's right," Jenna said.

"What happened to your leg?" Margo asked.

"Ankle. I just twisted it, that's all." Jenna said. "But I was actually just leaving if you don't mind."

"Hey, not so fast." Gary moved closer to her. "You doing anything today? You and I could hang out here, you know—rest that ankle of yours while we wait for Ismael to come back."

"Thanks, but no," Jenna said. "I really do have to go now."

Another shrug. "Your loss—anytime." He opened the door for her. "Come back and see me sometime, though—huh?"

Not very likely, Jenna thought, as she stepped out of the room, making her way towards the stairwell doors. Gary had seemed more interested in trying to hit on her than helping to find his roommate—he wasn't going to be much help at all. Her best bet now was to get back home, let her parents and the Agency know what was going on.

She had a feeling that Ismael's life would depend on it.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**"**Okay." Margo crossed her arms as she faced Gary. "Mind telling me what that girl was doing here?"

"She said was looking for Ismael, that's all," Gary replied. "Apparently they're working on a project together."

"A project?" Margo repeated. "With Ismael? Is that what she told you?"

Gary nodded. "That's what she told me, yeah. Anyway, what are you doing here? Didn't I point you in the right direction last night? "

"Actually, you did—the dealer you pointed me to gave me exactly what I needed." Digging in her purse, Margo produced a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to him. "I told you I would make it worth your while, didn't I?"

"Yes you did." Gary smiled as he plucked the twenty from her hand. "I knew you were my favorite cousin for a reason."

"I'm your only cousin."

"Don't I know it," Gary said. "So tell me, cousin—what have you been doing with yourself lately? I heard you've taken up with some older guy? "

Margo's head jerked up. "Where'd you hear that from?"

"Your mom talks to my mom—word gets around, you know?"

"Yeah, well don't worry about it," Margo snapped. "My mother never wanted me to have the good things in life; she never even wanted me to go to college. If she had her way I'd be doing what she did and working in some dump for minimum."

"Hey, relax." Gary held up his hands. "I'm not fighting with you. I was just asking, that's all."

"Well don't. The person I'm with cares for me—he's going places and he's going to help me get what I want."

"No argument here," Gary replied. "You always were a go-getter, even when we were kids. Anything else I can do?"

"Yes, you can do something." Margo strolled over to Ismael's side of the room, picking up the book beside the laptop. She opened it, glancing down at the flyleaf before looking up at Gary. "And I'll even give you another twenty for it if you like."

"Oh yeah? What for this time?"

Margo closed the book. "For all the information you can give me about that girl that just left—Jenna."

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

***Warning: Intense Scenes***

***Sorry for the delay-real life and a cold got in the way. For disclaimers, see Chapter One-hope you enjoy :) * **

**Chapter Nine**

**4247 Maplewood Dr**

**Sunday, September 2, 2007**

**8:35 AM **

"I'm glad you're home." Amanda hugged Jenna briefly as she came through the door. "How's your ankle?"

"It's not too bad," Jenna replied. "I just did a lot of walking on it—the elevator in the dorm was out of order."

"Did you find out what you needed to?"

"No—no I didn't." Jenna drew in a deep breath and let it out. "Mom, I think something's really wrong here. I really need to talk to you and Dad about this."

"Sweetheart, of course." Amanda gave her another hug. "Let's go into the family room, okay? Your dad's making breakfast—we'll get that ankle of yours taken care of and then you can tell us all about it."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

"Here's your breakfast and some orange juice." Lee placed the tray down on the coffee table, carefully moving the table closer to the sofa. Jenna sat on the sofa; her ankle rewrapped and propped up on two cushions with a fresh icepack. "Do you need anything else?"

Jenna shook her head. "No, this is fine—thanks." She picked up the orange juice and took a sip, letting the cold sweet liquid trickle down her throat. "I guess I should start at the beginning with this—on the first day of college I met this guy named Ismael Bahati."

"How exactly did you meet him?" Lee asked.

"Well he needed directions on how to get to a class and it turned out that we were taking the same class—Arabic. And we just kind of got to talking."

"That makes sense," Amanda said. "That's the class that Professor Gatari teaches, right?"

"Right." Jenna took another sip of the orange juice, trying to get her jumbled thoughts in order. "So anyway, we were in the class and Professor Gatari was talking about his book and his experiences in Rwanda and how he had survived a fire in the church and Ismael got very upset about that—he said that he personally knew that there were no survivors in that fire."

"So Ismael is Rwandan too?" Lee asked her.

"Yeah." Jenna gave a nod. "He was just little when it happened, but he said that he remembered."

Of course he would remember, Lee thought, thinking back to his own experiences when he was young. A trauma like that would definitely leave its mark, regardless of age. "So that's why you asked me that hypothetical question one night."

"That was why," Jenna replied. "And that's why I bought the book. Dad, really, I wasn't trying to lie to you then—I just—I didn't know what to think."

"Jenna listen—it really is okay," Lee told her. "The important thing is that you're coming to us now."

"Yeah." Hopefully she wasn't too late—Jenna drew in another deep breath. "Anyway, I know what you said about reports being confused—I thought maybe that was the case here. But Ismael lost his aunt and his cousin in that fire, and he was so sure that no one had survived. That's what started the investigation."

"How exactly did you two investigate this?" Amanda wanted to know.

"On the internet, at least at first." Jenna cut a piece of sausage with her fork and popped it into her mouth. "We didn't get very far, but we didn't have much to go on. I thought that maybe it was a case of someone trying to get some publicity by lying about his past, you know? I think Ismael thought that too, at the time. We really didn't have any idea of how big it was until the Luau. "

"What exactly did happen at the Luau?" Lee asked.

"Well, I was there with Christy and we had just gotten some food and drinks," Jenna explained. "And then I saw Professor Gatari and he was wearing the same suit and tie that he'd worn to class—he wasn't exactly dressed for a Luau. And then I saw Dr. Spencer walk up to him—he's my biology teacher. I'd seen them talking together before and it didn't seem like they were friends. I just thought it was strange."

Lee nodded. "That's understandable." Dr. Spencer, Professor Gatari—he was beginning to realize just how much he didn't know about Jenna's life at Georgetown so far. "So what did you do then?"

"They talked for a little while and then they left the room. I told Christy to watch my stuff and then I followed them."

"And that's when you listened to their conversation?" Amanda asked.

"That's when, yeah," Jenna replied. "I hid behind the door—I could hear but I couldn't really see anything. I heard Dr. Spencer telling the professor that he'd found something on the internet about him. He showed it to him and asked what it was worth to him."

"So you think what you heard was a blackmail attempt," Lee said.

"That's what it sounded like." As she spoke, Jenna's mind went back to that night. " At the time I didn't know what he showed him, but whatever it was it made Professor Gatari angry—he told Dr. Spencer that he'd put men in the ground for less. And Dr. Spencer called him Joseph Hugama."

Joseph Hugama, Lee thought—for some reason that name sounded familiar, and not in a good way, either. A knot in his stomach began to tighten—he fought to keep his voice as calm as possible. "You're sure that was the name you heard?"

"That was the name, yeah," Jenna said. "They were speaking another language too—when I told Ismael about it he said it was Kinyarwanda."

"That is one of the languages around that region," Lee said. "Can you remember any of the words?"

"Just two—intumbi and inyenzi. Ismael said that one meant buried and the other one meant cockroach."

"I'm familiar with those words," Lee said. "What did you hear after that?"

"Nothing—after that I knocked something over and ran. Like I said before, I didn't stop until I reached the parking garage."

"Did anything happen after that?" Amanda asked.

Another nod. "Yeah, Ismael followed me into the garage. He wanted a copy of the book—he'd said he'd found some evidence and he wanted to see if it matched up with the book." Jenna drained the last of her orange juice and put the glass back down on the tray. "He didn't tell me what the evidence was, exactly—just that he needed the book. I told him about what I heard and that I wanted to go the authorities but he said no—he said we didn't have enough yet—and he made me promise not to say anything." A promise she never should have made. Jenna shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. If Ismael was in danger or dead because of this—

"Jenna?" Her mom's voice snapped Jenna out of her reverie. "Sweetheart, don't second guess yourself—you did what you thought was best at the time."

"I guess so," Jenna said. "I just wish I knew where he was right now."

"You know, the more you tell us, the more we can help him," Lee told her. "What happened today?"

"This morning he texted me and wanted my email, and then he sent me a message with two attachments—one was a group photo with Joseph Hugama and another was a screenshot from a webpage, saying that Joseph Hugama was guilty of war crimes but believed to be deceased."

"And the picture looked like Professor Gatari?" Amanda asked. "You're sure?"

"Pretty sure," Jenna admitted. "I mean, he was younger and had longer hair, but still you could see the resemblance. I really think it was the same guy. "

"A picture is good, but that's still not enough evidence," Lee said.

"That's what I said too—I said that we needed more." Jenna bit down briefly on her lower lip. "And Ismael told me that he was thinking of breaking into Professor Gatari's private quarters or his office."

The knot in Lee's stomach tightened even further. "Do you think he might have done that?"

"I don't know," Jenna said. "We talked a little—I told him it was a bad idea and he promised me he wouldn't, but I don't know."

"You don't think he kept that promise?" Amanda asked.

His promise—what exactly had Ismael said? Had he just promised that he wouldn't break into his quarters and decided to break into the office instead? Jenna tried to think back to the exact wording but her brain didn't seem to want to focus. "Mom, I'm not sure. All I do know is that he texted me around twelve-thirty and said he was going to send me some more evidence, and I didn't hear from him after that."

"That's why you went to Georgetown this morning," Lee said.

"Yeah, I wanted to see if I could find him. But he hasn't gone back to his dorm and I can't get a hold of him on his phone. I met his roommate and he was pretty useless—he thinks that Ismael just got lucky or something."

"Is it possible that he does have a girlfriend that he's staying with?" Lee asked.

"No, I don't think so. Gary—that's his roommate—didn't mention any regular girl. He just said that maybe he had gotten lucky with someone who likes studious guys."

"What about other friends or family members?" Amanda wanted to know. "Does he have any living nearby?"

"I really don't know," Jenna replied. "He's here on a student visa—I could be wrong but I don't think he has a lot of family or friends living around here. "

"And you can't think of anywhere else he might have gone?" Lee asked.

Jenna sighed. "Dad, no, I can't—I think that even if he went somewhere else he would've found a way to let me know. I don't know what might have happened. I mean, if he's hurt or something—" her voice broke off. Lee sat down beside his daughter.

"Jenna, look at me—you need to stay calm." He told her. "Getting upset isn't going to accomplish anything right now. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Jenna's voice was low. "I just don't know what else to do right now. If we had known what this whole thing was about when we started this—"

Lee could see the pain in his daughter's eyes. "You didn't have any way of knowing that."

"Sweetheart, it's really not your fault," Amanda added. "Your dad's right—you couldn't have known."

"I know that. But I'm just—I'm so worried."

"Yeah, I know you are." Lee hugged her briefly. "But trust me; we're going to do everything we possibly can."

"I know you will." Jenna said. "So what exactly do we do now?"

"Well first, we're going to need the picture and the document that Ismael sent you. Can you print that out for us or put it on a disk?"

"Actually— I put it on a thumb drive last night," Jenna said. "It's upstairs beside my laptop."

"Good job," Lee told her. "We're also going to need the information off your cell phone—the texts as well as the number of his cell phone. Do you have anything else that you can give us?"

"Not right now," Jenna replied. "Ismael's computer might have more, but Gary said it was password protected."

"Don't worry; we can take care of that if we need to." Amanda assured her. "Now is there anything else that you can think of that might be important to this case?"

"Not that I can think of—no, wait." Jenna frowned. "There was something this morning that was a little strange, but I'm not sure it means anything."

"What was that?" Amanda asked.

"Margo was there—she's a student and she's also Professor Gatari's assistant—she's a really big fan of his. Like I said, I don't know if it means anything, maybe it was just a coincidence. It just seemed strange to me."

Coincidence maybe, Lee thought—though his gut was telling him that it was probably more than just coincidence. "Did she know why you were there?" he asked his daughter.

"Well, Gary said that I could stay there with him and wait for Ismael, so yeah, she knows."

So, Margo knew about Jenna, and if she was working with Gatari, she would tell him—Jenna could be the next potential target. Lee looked into Amanda's eyes, seeing the anxiety that he felt mirrored there. "Jenna, do you know Margo's last name or anything else about her?"

"Her name is Margo Andersen, that's all I know," Jenna hesitated. "Do you need me to do anything else—to come down to the Agency and give a statement or anything?"

"No, sweetheart, you really don't need to be there," Amanda told her.

"But if there's anything that I can do to help—"

"Listen," Amanda said. "Your father and I can handle this—and if we need a statement we can always get that later on. Right now, what we need you to do is stay here with your grandma, rest that ankle of yours and take it easy. Okay?"

"Okay. I'll keep my phone with me just in case Ismael calls."

"That's a good idea," Lee said. "Let us know if he does." He glanced down at his watch. Almost nine o'clock—they should collect the information they needed and head over to the Agency now—something told him there wasn't much time to waste. He'd also arrange for someone to watch the house in the meantime—he really didn't think Gatari would try anything, but at this point he wasn't willing to take any chances, not where his family's safety was involved.

"Let me know if you find him okay? And be careful—I love you."

"We love you too, sweetheart." Amanda hugged Jenna. "And we promise we'll let you know."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**Q-Bureau**

**9:45 AM**

"I don't think Jenna's exactly thrilled about having to stay at home again today," Amanda said as entered the Q-Bureau.

"Oh, I know she's not," Lee replied. "But right now that's the safest place for her to be."

Amanda sat down at her desk and turned her computer on. "You really think she could be in danger?"

"At this point? I'm not sure, Amanda. But I think it's a possibility."

"Yeah." Amanda's expression clouded. "I keep hoping we'll get a call from her telling us that Ismael's contacted her—that this was all just a misunderstanding. If he's in danger—"

"I know how you feel," he said aloud. "But I think we have to trust Jenna's instincts on this. He would've called her by now."

"You're right. And the sooner we get to the bottom of this, the better. All right, let's see exactly what we have here." Amanda plugged the thumb drive into the USB port. The files popped up and she clicked on the photo. The picture filled the monitor screen and Lee stared at image of the five men. It was the man in the middle who caught his attention—the slight sneer on the lips, the eyes—just like the cover of Jenna's book.

'My God….' a wave of recognition washed over him, like being doused in cold water.

"Lee?" Amanda stared up at him. "What is it? Is there someone you recognize?"

Lee nodded. "The guy in the middle. Remember when I went over there to liaise with the UN on gathering data about genocide and related war crimes?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Well, Joseph Hugama was there."

"At UN Headquarters?"

"Yeah, he was doing maintenance work around the facility. He was quiet, kind of kept to himself and just did his job. We knew he was a Hutu, but he said he was a moderate, and we believed him—we didn't have a reason not to." Lee's expression was grim. "But we couldn't have been more wrong."

"You mean that he was one of the people who—" Amanda's voice broke off, unable to finish her sentence. Lee nodded.

"About a week after I left—the end of July—by that time most of the violence had died down." He sat down slowly in a nearby chair, suddenly realizing that he was shaking. "Twenty UN Workers—twelve men, eight women. The men were slaughtered—beaten, their throats cut, and the women were assaulted, mutilated—" Lee closed his eyes briefly, remembering the crime scene photos he'd viewed.

"I remember," Amanda said softly. She took his hands in hers.

"He was one of the Interahamwe, Amanda—he provided them with intelligence to be able to bypass the alarm system and break inside in the middle of the night."

"Was he ever caught?"

Lee shook his head. "No. By the time we discovered his role in it, he had already crossed the border into Zaire."

"Where he supposedly died," Amanda spoke quietly. "Are you sure it's him?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure," Lee replied. "And I'm sure that Gatari and Hugama are one and the same. I can't believe that I didn't see it before."

"It's been over nineteen years."

"Maybe, but Jenna handed me that book, Amanda—I stared right at that man's face on the cover and I didn't even see it." His voice rose slightly. "This is the man who's been teaching our daughter—how could I have missed that?"

"Lee, you can't blame yourself for that."

"Can't I?"

"It's been a long time—you didn't know."

"I should have. Jenna and Ismael were investigating this guy. What if she'd been caught eavesdropping that night?"

"But she wasn't caught. "

"But she could've been. If she hadn't hurt her ankle she might have been there with Ismael at Georgetown yesterday—she could've been taken right along with him." The thought of his child in the hands of a butcher like that—he didn't even want to contemplate. Amanda squeezed his hands.

"Jenna's just fine," she told him firmly. "She's at home—we have someone watching the house and she's safe."

"That's not the point."

"Then what is the point?" Amanda asked. Lee didn't reply. "You can't think about what-ifs, remember? You've told me that before."

Lee let out his breath in a whoosh. "I know that—it's just, thinking how close she came—"

"Listen, right now we have to concentrate on what's in front of us—capturing this man, rescuing Ismael and making sure that Jenna doesn't become his next target. Okay?"

"Okay, Mrs. Stetson." Still holding her hands leaned over and kissed her softly." Let's get this information to Francine—see what we can find out about Gatari and Hugama."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**Georgetown University**

**9:00 AM **

_Mama had always taken care of him when he was ill. Ismael stared up into her kind eyes. She smiled down at him, her eyes filled with love as she placed a cool cloth on his forehead. She caressed his cheek with her hand. _

_"Umukundwa, Ismael," she said. "I will always love you, you know. I am always here for you." She kissed his cheek. "Always." _

_"Mama—" Ismael reached for her hand and held on tightly, even as her voice, her face and her form faded away into nothing….._

"So, I see the sleeper awakens."

The voice pierced Ismael's consciousness. A man's voice—Gatari's voice. Gatari—Ismael tried to sit up but a hand pushed him back down.

"I really wouldn't do that if I were you," he said. "You're cuffed to the bed—you're likely to hurt yourself if you try."

Hurt himself—his head already felt like it was being pounded by jackhammers. Where was he? His vision slowly began to clear and he saw that he was lying on a bed—his head propped up with a pillow and cuffs on each wrist, in what looked like a small apartment—he could see a bedroom area, kitchen and a door that probably led to a bathroom. The walls were painted a golden honey color and adorned with paintings and tribal masks. Gatari's private quarters? What was he doing here? Ismael tried to think back. He could vaguely remember being in Gatari's office, searching it and finding—what had he found? He flexed his hand , remembering the feel of cool metal against his palm—some kind of a watch? Then after that—what? He tried to think back but it felt like a big blur.

"What—what am I doing here?" he managed to croak out. His mouth felt like he'd swallowed a cup of sand. Gatari placed a small cup of water against his lips.

"Drink." He ordered.

Ismael eyed the liquid. "Is it—"

"Is it drugged? Could be." Gatari's voice hardened. "But either way, you will drink it. Now, do it—I'm not asking you again."

He really didn't have a choice at this point, and he was actually quite thirsty. Ismael sipped the water—a small trail of it ran down his chin onto his shirt. Finally Gatari pulled the cup away.

"I think that's enough for now," he said. "It's time for you and I to have a little chat."

"You still haven't told me what I'm doing here."

"You really don't remember, do you? I've heard that amnesia can happen in these instances." Gatari sat beside him on the bed. "Tell me the last thing you do remember."

"I remember being back at your office," Ismael said. "I was—I remembered I was searching for—and then my head—something hit me." He looked at Gatari. "You hit me."

Gatari nodded. "Self-defense. I had found and subdued a potentially dangerous intruder in my office, remember? I could turn you in to the law in a heartbeat."

"Then turn me in. I'll tell them—"

"Tell them what? And even if you told them something, who do you think they'd believe? A respected professor and human rights activist or the eighteen-year-old who was caught breaking and entering? I think I know who I'd believe. Now what else do you recall?"

Ismael frowned. "We were talking—you were asking me questions, and you gave me something to drink." Something like a soda—he swallowed, remembering something sweet. "That's the last thing that I remember."

"That's all?" Gatari leaned towards him. "Do you recall what you were searching for? Don't tell me that it was a book, Ismael—I think we've already established that as a lie."

"I was—" he couldn't tell him the truth. The professor leaned closer. "I'm afraid that I don't remember."

Gatari's eyes were like hard black pebbles. "You say that you don't remember?"

"That's right." He replied evenly. "I don't."

"Liar!" Gatari hissed the word as he delivered a vicious backhand across the side of Ismael's face, causing his head to snap back. Before he had time to recover another blow followed—Ismael couldn't suppress a cry of pain as he bit the inside of his mouth. His left cheek throbbed and. Something wet ran down his chin and a coppery taste filled his mouth—blood.

"Continue to lie to me," Gatari said. "And there will be more of that to come." Ismael could feel the man's breath on his face. "Do we understand now? Tell me what you were looking for."

"It—" the memory of the photos was coming back to him now—the ones he'd found in the drawer. Had he phoned Jenna and told her? Where had he left them? "I was looking for evidence."

"Evidence of what?"

"It doesn't matter what it was—what I was looking for. I didn't find it."

Gatari laughed. "You didn't find it? Really?" He reached into his pocket, pulling out the photos and showing them to Ismael. "These were in your bag. Care to tell me what you were planning to do with them? Perhaps you were going to share them with Dr. Spencer."

Ismael shook his head—even that small motion was agonizing. "No, I don't even know Dr. Spencer."

"You're telling me that you're not working with him?" Gatari's voice rose. "That you weren't going to show these to him as further proof in your quest to discredit me?"

"As further proof of what? I don't even know what those photos mean."

"I believe I've told you before, haven't I? About lying to me?" Gatari's right hand clenched. Ismael tensed his body, ready for another blow, but it didn't come. Instead Gatari unclenched his fist and reached once more into his pocket. "Well, if you don't know what that means, young Ismael—perhaps you know what this means." With that he pulled out the pocket watch, dangling it before his eyes. "Hmm?"

"That—that's my father's watch!" Ismael struggled weakly against the cuffs, straining to rise from the bed as the professor chuckled. "How did you get that—tell me!"

"Not so fast." Gatari re-pocketed the item. "You tell me what you were looking for, who you work for, and who's working with you. And then maybe I'll tell you. But not before."

Ismael shook his head again. "I have nothing to say."

"Nothing?" Gatari smiled thinly. "So you have no interest in hearing how I came to be in possession of this watch, Ismael Bahati? No interest in hearing about how I knew your father Alphonse?"

His father—Ismael opened his mouth to speak when a knock sounded at the door. One knock, then a pause, then two knocks in quick succession.

"Margo," Gatari muttered. "Excuse me." He rose from the chair and walked towards the door, opening it.

"Just where have you been?" he asked as Margo came through the door, paper bag in hand. "You were supposed to get breakfast and come right back here."

"I'm sorry about that," Margo said. "But I think when you hear what I have to tell you —"she paused, her eyes widening as she glanced over at Ismael. "What did you do to him?"

"He seems to be having a bit of trouble answering my questions," the professor remarked, "I told you my questioning methods were different than those used by the police, didn't I?"

"You did—but you didn't tell me they would involve—I didn't know you were going to hurt him like that. His face is—"

"Enough." He snatched the bag from Margo's hand. "Such things don't concern you. Now what is it that you wish to tell me?"

"About a possible accomplice," Margo replied. "Someone who might be working with Ismael. A girl named Jenna Stetson?"

Jenna? Ismael's alarm rose. How could they have found out about her? Gatari briefly glanced at Ismael before turning back towards Margo.

"Jenna Stetson," Gatari said slowly. "Yes, that name does sound familiar."

"It should." Margo's voice held a triumphant tone. "She takes your Beginning Arabic class and she sits right beside him. In fact, the first time I saw Ismael, he was with her."

"And?" The professor asked. "Is there more?"

Margo nodded. "Oh yes. She was in Ismael's dorm room about an hour ago, asking for him. It seems that she was supposed to meet him, only he never turned up."

"And what were you doing in that room? I never asked you to go in there."

"You remember the drugs you asked me to get last night?" Margo said. "Turns out that Ismael's roommate Gary knows a dealer—he pointed me in the right direction."

Gatari's face darkened as he stepped closer to Margo. "Ismael's roommate? I don't suppose you even thought about how dangerous that might be for us?"

"I thought you'd be proud—"

"Proud? You could have led my enemies directly towards me. Is that what you want?"

"Would you relax?" Margo let out a nervous little laugh, taking a step back and away from him. "He just so happens to be my cousin. Trust me, he won't say anything."

"You better hope that he remains silent, Margo," Gatari said. "Or you know what might happen." Ismael watched as Margo's face paled slightly at that remark.

"I'm sorry, Jean-Baptiste," she said. "All I was trying to do was help—" Gatari placed a finger on her lips.

"I know you were. But you need to watch who you trust. And if I am to trust you, I need you to do what I say, and not doubt what I'm doing to fight against my enemies. Remember what I said, about us being together and about you getting what you want?" Margo nodded. "Well in order to achieve that, you're going to have to do what I tell you. All right?" Margo smiled and nodded again. Gatari replaced his finger with his lips, bending to kiss her briefly. "Good. No more questions. Now, what makes you think that this Jenna girl is working with Ismael? They could simply be friends."

"They could be, except she talked about texting him yesterday, and she also seemed to be very interested in whatever Ismael had on his laptop."

"Did she say why?"

"She told Gary that she and Ismael were working on a project. Don't you think that's a little odd?"

Gatari rubbed his chin. "It's interesting, yes," he murmured. "Do you have anything else?"

"Oh, yes." Margo reached into her purse and pulled out a copy of Professor Gatari's book and handed it to him. "Jenna's phone number is right there on the flyleaf—it's the copy that I saw her buying in the bookstore last week."

"So I see." Gatari opened the book, studying the number. He closed the book and looked back up at Margo. "Thank you for telling me this. Well then, Ismael," he said, turning back towards him. "What do you have to tell me about Jenna Stetson?"

"Nothing," Ismael told him. "Like you said; she's just a friend."

"A friend who wants to see what's on your laptop?" Gatari asked. "A friend who gives you a book about me? What project would you two be working on, exactly?"

"It's nothing—just a project."

"What kind of project? I'm the professor, and I haven't assigned anything." Ismael said nothing, looking down and away from him. "Look at me," Gatari ordered. "Tell me what this project of yours involves."

"It doesn't matter. She's just a friend—she has nothing to do with this. Please, just leave her alone."

"And if I don't leave her alone? What then?" Gatari bent over him grabbed Ismael's left arm, pulling it against the restraints until the young man grunted. "Tell me!"

"I have nothing to say. I keep telling you—she doesn't know anything."

"I could easily dislocate your shoulder, you know—or your elbow—break a bone or two." Gatari's tone was conversational as he continued to pull Ismael's arm against the cuffs. "It's quite easy once you know how. Or maybe I should get Jenna over here, eh?" He watched with satisfaction as Ismael's eyes filled with fear. "Perhaps watching her being hurt will loosen your tongue."

"You can hurt me all you like." Ismael spoke between clenched teeth, his forehead beaded with sweat. "I still have nothing to say."

"Your choice." Gatari let go of Ismael's arm and drew his fist back, punching him squarely in the face. Ismael's head slumped to one side as he lost consciousness. Gatari stood over him, rubbing his knuckles and breathing hard.

"Feed him some of that breakfast when he comes to," he told Margo, who stared at Ismael, pale and wide-eyed. "And make sure he eats—and whatever you do, don't loosen those restraints."

"Where are you going?" Margo asked.

"To see Dr. Spencer," Gatari said. "I believe that he and I are due for another chat, and I have some other plans to make."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

***For Disclaimers, see Part One. Hope you enjoy :) * **

**Chapter Ten**

**Georgetown University**

**Sunday, September 2, 2007**

**10:55 AM **

"According to the GPS information on Ismael's cell phone, it's still somewhere on campus," Lee said, as they drove through Georgetown's main entrance, headed towards the visitor's parking lot.

"Hopefully he's still here too," Amanda spoke softly.

"Hopefully," Lee agreed. If Gatari had taken him off to another location—he didn't even like to think about that possibility. "We'll check the office first—if he's not there we'll check his quarters." He glanced briefly over at Amanda, who was flipping through the file she held in her lap. "What is it?"

"I was just going over this information that Francine gave us about Joseph Hugama," Amanda said "Apart from the UN Massacre, he's also wanted for various home invasions, kidnappings, church arsons where refugees were believed to be hiding—the list goes on and on."

"That's our guy, all right," Lee replied grimly. "Any information about Jean-Baptiste Gatari?"

Amanda shook her head. "Not much apart from a birth record in Northern Rwanda—same date and year of birth as Joseph Hugama. Nothing after that. No data, no educational records, nothing published in his own country—nothing that proves this person holds any of the academic credentials that Professor Gatari claims to hold."

"Sounds to me like he took on the identity of a dead child." Lee pulled into the visitor's parking lot.

"That would be my guess too," Amanda said. "After the genocide, the government was in chaos—some personal records have been lost for good—that's probably what Hugama was counting on. We didn't find much about Margo Andersen—no record, no priors, she grew up around here and got into Georgetown on a full scholarship—she's been on the Dean's List ever since."

"Why on earth would someone like that get involved with someone like Gatari?"

Amanda shook her head. "I'm really not sure. But Jenna says she's a really big fan of his—maybe she's too star struck to realize the truth about him."

"Maybe," Lee sounded doubtful. "Or maybe she thinks that she has something to gain by hooking up with him. Anything in there about Hugama's educational background?" Lee asked.

"Not much." Amanda flipped to a page near the end of the file. "But he was an avid reader and fluent in several languages—it probably wasn't that hard for him to forge some degrees and pass himself off as a professor."

"No you're right about that." Now that Lee thought back, he did recall that Hugama usually had a book or two on hand during his breaks. "Anything with the photo?"

"Just that the lab used facial recognition software to compare it to Gatari's photo—they're 98.5% sure that Gatari and Hugama are one and the same."

"Yeah, well I'm one-hundred percent sure. " Lee pulled into a nearby parking space—thankfully the lot was nearly empty on a Sunday. "Let's get to his office—the sooner we catch this guy and put him away the better I'll feel."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

"I'm really not hungry," Ismael said.

"But you have to eat more than that," Margo told him. She cut off a piece of pancake with a plastic fork. "Just a little bit more—come on."

"I'm sorry—but I really don't want any more."

"But you're going to need to keep up your strength. Come on now."

"To keep up my strength up for what?" Ismael asked her. Talking was painful—his jaw ached and the side of his face throbbed with pain but he had to keep talking to keep from thinking—just to keep himself sane. "Just why exactly are you doing this? Because he told you to?" Margo didn't say anything, her eyes not meeting his. "You might at least tell me, Margo."

"Tell you?" Margo repeated. "What makes you think I'd tell anything to a criminal who's trying to discredit and destroy the man I care about?"

"You may think I'm a criminal," Ismael said. "But what do you call what he's doing to me now?"

"I call it justified. After all, he has to defend himself."

"From me?" Ismael shifted his position slightly, wincing at the pain that shot through his injured arm and shoulder. "Am I such a threat?" More silence from Margo. "You have to know that this man you care about is one of the worst war criminals around. He's not even who he claims to be. The things he's done—"

Margo laughed. "And what exactly makes you think I don't know?"

Ismael stared at her in disbelief. "What do you mean?"

"I know the kind of things he's done in the past," Margo said. "But unlike you and others with small minds, I see the big picture."

"The big picture?"

"The book is just the beginning." Margo's face positively glowed as she spoke. "Don't you see? He's got this humanitarian award wrapped up and more will follow—he might even be appointed to the US Commission on Civil Rights. And who knows? Maybe even the Nobel. He's going places, Ismael. He's going to do great things. And I'll be right by his side."

Right by his side—Ismael almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. "And you think all of that cancels out the crimes he's committed?" he asked her. "The people he's killed?"

"A man's future matters more than his past," Margo replied. "Everyone deserves a chance for redemption."

"Except when his past and future are both built upon a fraud."

Margo's expression darkened. "You just don't understand. I didn't think you would"

Oh he understood, all right, Ismael thought bitterly—Margo was willing to excuse anything Gatari did as long as she was guaranteed a free ride on his coattails. He opened his mouth to say something else when the door opened and Gatari strode in.

"I was only able to get him to eat a little breakfast—" Margo started to say, but the professor held up his hand.

"Never mind about that now," he said. "It doesn't matter." He grabbed a nearby pad of paper and took a pen out of his top pocket, scribbling furiously on the pad. "I want you to go to my office now and get these things for me and come straight back here—as fast as you can." He ripped the page off the pad and handed it to her. "Got it?"

"What is all this for?" Margo asked.

"Never mind what it's for—we're headed out of here and we're taking Ismael with us. Now go! There's no time!" For just a minute Margo hesitated, and then she was gone, slamming the door behind her. Gatari slowly walked towards Ismael and sat down beside him on the bed.

"Now it's just us, Mr. Bahati," he said. "And whatever shall we chat about?"

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

The front part of the office was empty as Lee and Amanda entered. The adjacent offices branched out from the main section. A couple of the doors were open but most were closed, including the door with Gatari's name on the front.

Amanda tried the door. "It's locked. "

"Not for long." Lee removed a pick from the inside of his cuffs and quickly opened the lock, pushing the door open. The office looked like someone had been searching for something, Amanda thought, looking at the half-open desk drawers and the disarray on the desk. A pile of magazines lay on the floor beside the chair. Had Ismael been here? A large crystal paperweight lay on the desk. Looking at it more closely Amanda could see that the top of the paperweight was stained reddish brown.

"Lee, take a look at this," she said.

"Let me see." Lee bent to inspect the object. "Yeah, I'd say that's definitely dried blood."

"Some blood here on the carpet, too." Amanda knelt beside the desk. "And look here, in the wastepaper basket—a soda can and part of a blister pack." The blister pack had been broken open but the name on the back was still visible. "Flunitrazepam. Isn't that Rohypnol?"

Lee nodded. "That's exactly what it is."

"Yeah, and there's some other things here too." Taking a pencil from the desk she lifted up a handkerchief and a red silk tie. The handkerchief was bloodstained as well—probably used to bind and gag him. What must have happened to him here—feeling slightly sick, Amanda let the items drop back into the wastepaper basket.

"Look at this, Amanda." Lee picked up a bag that had been left beside the chair.

"That looks more like a student's bag," Amanda said. "Is there anything in it?"

"Yeah, there's something here—" Lee unzipped the main compartment and then the front compartment, pulling out a cell phone. "And all the missed calls—and texts—all from Jenna's number."

Amanda nodded. "So Ismael was definitely here." The only question was where he was now—hopefully he was still campus.

At that moment they heard a noise—a faint groan coming from somewhere outside.

"Help—help me, please." A man's voice. Amanda rose to her feet and followed Lee out of the office. The voice was coming from the supply closet. Lee pulled open the door. A grey haired man wearing glasses and dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts lay on the floor, one hand pressed tightly against the upper part of his chest. Beside him lay a letter opener, stained with blood.

"Stabbed me," the man's voice was very faint. "Lured me in here—thought he wanted to make a deal—instead he pushed me in here and stabbed me."

"Professor Gatari stabbed you?" Amanda asked. The man nodded. "Are you Doctor Spencer?"

Another nod. "That's right. Bastard got me with that letter opener."

"Amanda, call Francine," Lee said. "Let her know what's going on, and tell her we need a team over here ASAP." Lee knelt beside Dr. Spencer, pulling his hand away and tearing the shirt to inspect the wound. Thankfully it didn't look that deep. Lee took off his jacket and pressed that against the man's shoulder.

"Dr. Spencer?" The man's eyes were beginning to close. "Stay with me," Lee told him. "Help's on the way."

A faint smile. "Good thing for me, huh? After how stupid I've been—really underestimated him."

"What do you mean?"

"Always knew he was a fraud—" Dr. Spencer's eyes closed again, only to snap back open. "Just had to find some proof, y'know? Make a little cash on the side—I had no idea how dangerous he was."

"Do you have any idea of where he might have gone?" Lee asked. "What he was planning?"

"Said he'd—caught—caught one of my confederates—some kid named Ismael? And that he was going to capture the other."

"The other? That's what he said?"

"That's it." Dr. Spencer laughed suddenly—a laugh that turned into a hacking cough. "Man, I don't even have any confederates, you know? And I didn't even give him her name that night—don't know how he got it."

"Whose name?" Lee's voice rose slightly. Dr. Spencer's eyes closed again."Dr. Spencer, look at me—tell me who you're talking about."

"Jenna—Jenna Stetson. Saw her ID in the hallway that night but I didn't tell on her—gave it back to her friend—didn't say anything—not to him." His eyes closed again.

"A team should be here any minute," Amanda said. "How's he doing?"

"All right, considering." Lee stood. "But right now we need to get to Gatari's quarters—according to Spencer he's planning to leave here with Ismael and Jenna's next on the list."

A gasp sounded from behind them. Lee and Amanda turned to see a dark-haired girl standing behind them, her eyes very wide.

"Margo?" Amanda said. "Margo Andersen?"

"I—" the girl turned and ran out of the office and Amanda took off after her, knocking her to the ground and quickly subduing her, cuffing the girl's hands behind her back and pulling her to her feet.

"Let me go—" Margo snarled, trying to pull away. "I haven't done anything. You have no right to do this to me!"

"We do if you're working with Professor Gatari," Amanda said.

"I wasn't," Margo replied. "I'm not involved with anything—I was just passing by and I heard voices."

"Just passing by the administrative offices on a Sunday morning? Care to tell us why?" Margo bit her lip and stared down at the carpet. "What were you doing here?" Amanda asked. "Some kind of errand for Gatari?"

"I—I wasn't—I just—" Margo stammered. A piece of paper was poking out of her front pocket. Amanda pulled it out.

"That's mine!" Margo said. "You have no right—"

"I have every right." Amanda's lips thinned as she read down the list. She looked back up at Margo.

"Is this what you came to collect?" she asked her.

Margo's expression hardened. "Look, I have nothing else to say to you about that paper or any of this—you can take it up with my attorney."

"Don't worry, we intend to." Lee replied. At that moment Francine and a team of agents came through the door.

"Take care of her," Amanda pushed Margo towards Francine. She looked at Lee. "Right now we need to get to Gatari before he leaves the campus."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

"Margo should be back here soon," Gatari said. "I can't imagine what's keeping that girl—I told her to collect the things and hurry back."

"Perhaps she's decided to leave you," Ismael replied. "And not to go along with your foolish plan."

"Margo?" Professor Gatari laughed. "I very much doubt it. You see, she has far too much to gain. You don't understand women very well, do you? I'll take it that you and this Jenna girl, you're not dating? Not even 'hooking up', as they say now?" Ismael stayed silent, looking away from him. "Nothing to say, eh? Never mind. Once I take her I'll have plenty of time to find out about you both."

"I insist you leave her alone—I keep telling you, she has nothing to do with any of this!"

"You insist?" Gatari laughed softly; the sound sent chills through Ismael. "From what I can see, young Ismael, you're in no position to insist upon much of anything." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the watch again, fingering it idly. "I never did tell you how I got this beautiful piece, did I? And you really don't remember, though I thought you might."

"Remember what?" Ismael asked.

"The night you and your mother were attacked?" He paused. "You're telling me that you don't remember at all?"

Remember that night—Ismael shut his eyes as the memories invaded his mind:

_'The loud crash seemed to shake the entire house, it felt like an earthquake. Ismael sat up in bed, crying out in terror as his bedroom door opened and a familiar shape rushed in. It was Mama, she was wrapping her robe tightly around her. She ran to him and lifted him off the bed and into her arms._

_"What was that, Mama?" He'd asked her. "What was the noise?" _

_"Shh…I will tell you later." She'd smoothed his hair and kissed his forehead. "Right now we have to get out of here. We're going out of your window and then we're going to run very fast. All right?" _

_Ismael nodded. "All right." _

_"Good boy." _

_Before Mama could open the window, though, the door to his bedroom was kicked open, the switch thrown, light flooding the room. A group of men stood there, all in uniform and carrying guns. Ismael had felt Mama's arms tighten around him—he'd known she was afraid. _

_"Leave us alone," she'd cried."We've done nothing to you!" The soldiers moved closer and she stepped back. "Please, just leave us be!" _

_"Hello there, Beatrice." A man stepped out from behind the group. "Surprised to see me?" _

_"Joseph!" His mama had spat out the name. "I should have known. Alphonse always trusted you, but I never did." _

_Joseph's smile widened. "What? Never trusted the friendly neighbor?" Taking a pistol from his belt, he stepped forward, caressing her cheek. "Such a pity—I always liked you." _

_"Go to hell." She'd slapped his cheek. Joseph's expression darkened. _

_"You really shouldn't have done that." He'd leveled the gun at her, his finger on the trigger. "My men and I will make you regret that. And I'll take the boy now, please." _

_"Don't hurt him," Mama had cried out. "Please don't!" Ismael had screamed as he was torn from her arms. The man placed Ismael back in his bed and held him there, his hand clamped over his mouth to muffle his cries as his mama continued to scream…..'_

Ismael opened his eyes, looking at Gatari's face—at Joseph's face. "That was you, that night," he said. "That's how you got the watch. You stole it."

Gatari smiled thinly. "Why not? It was a trophy of a victory—one of many that I collected. I was actually surprised that you didn't remember me, Ismael, but I guess you were so young. Your mother, though—she never forgot."

"I'll kill you," Ismael's teeth gritted as he glared at the man. "I swear when I get free from this, I will kill you."

"Somehow I don't think you'll get a chance." Gatari looked at his watch and rose from the bed. "Margo should be here soon with what we need, and then we can go." He pulled a large duffel bag out from under the bed and unzipped it.

"Where are we going?"

Gatari pulled out a gun out of the bag. "Where we're going is not your concern."

"No," Lee's voice. "But it is mine, Mr. Hugama. And right now you're coming with us."

"No, I don't think so." Gun in hand, Gatari turned to face them. Before he had a chance to fire, Lee shot first, hitting him in the arm. Gatari slumped to the floor, the gun dropping from his hands onto the carpet.

"Margo—" Gatari cried out as Lee approached him.

"Oh don't worry about her." Lee said as he handcuffed the man and roughly pulled him to his feet. "She's already in custody—it's all over for you now."

"Ismael Bahati?" Amanda sat beside him on the bed, picking the locks on his cuffs.

"That's who I am, yes," Ismael replied. "Who are you?"

"We're federal agents," Amanda told him. "My name's Amanda. Don't worry, you're safe now."

It was Jenna, it had to be—she must have let the authorities know what was going on—thank God that she had. He was safe now. Ismael felt his breathing and heart rate begin to slow, the adrenaline of the last few hours starting to wear off.

"Ismael?" Amanda's voice brought him back to the present. "How are you feeling? Can you tell me what hurts?"

"My head, mainly," Ismael spoke faintly. "My face—and my left shoulder—it's not too bad."

"Okay," Amanda told him as she finished undoing the cuffs. "Just lie still and try not to move. Paramedics are on their way—we'll get you out of here and to a hospital where you can be checked out."

"That's fine." There were other questions that he had, but at the moment he lacked the energy to ask them. A wave of weariness washed over him—he could feel his eyes beginning to close even as the paramedics made their way into the room and surrounded him, fitting something around his neck and lifting him onto a board and then onto a stretcher, wheeling him out of the room—out of the corner of his eye he could see Gatari—Hugama—his fine jacket dotted with blood, his face contorted with rage as he shouted something, struggling to pull away from the agent who held him.

'Exactly where he needs to be', Ismael thought, a feeling of satisfaction washing over him. It was finally finished—justice would be done. He held onto that thought as he was loaded into the ambulance—his eyes closing as he finally gave in and let himself rest.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**12:35 PM **

Jenna was just finishing up her lunch when her cell phone rang. She quickly picked it up and pressed the connect button.

"Hello?" She said.

"Sweetheart, it's me." Her mom's voice. "I'm at the hospital now—I just wanted to let you know that we found Ismael."

"You found him?" Jenna clutched the phone tightly, her heart pounding. "Is he—"

"Jenna relax, he's all right." Amanda assured her. "He has a head injury and a hurt shoulder and he was drugged—they're going to keep him in the hospital for a couple of days for observation, but he'll be just fine."

He was going to be just fine—Jenna let out her breath in a sigh of relief. "What about Professor Gatari?"

"He was arrested. Trust me; he'll be going away for a long time."

"That's good. And what about Margo? Was she—"

"Yes, she was working with him—she's been arrested too. Gatari also stabbed Dr. Spencer—he's in the hospital right now but he'll be fine too."

Margo and Gatari arrested and Dr. Spencer stabbed—Jenna shook her head reflexively, trying to take it all in. "What happens now? Will there be a trial?"

"Well he's wanted for war crimes in his own country, so he'd be extradited and tried over there—all that will need to be worked out between the Agency and the State Department."

"Is there anything that you need me to do right now?"

"No, not right now," Amanda said. "At some point we will need a statement from you but there's no rush on that."

"Can I talk to him?"

"Not right now, he's kind of tired and he really needs to rest. But he'll probably feel up to visitors tomorrow."

"I understand." Jenna still could remember how exhausted she'd been after she'd been rescued all those years ago—like she'd wanted to sleep for days. "I'm just so glad Ismael's all right. And mom—thank you—I love you. Tell Dad I love him too, all right?"

"You're very welcome, sweetheart. We love you too."

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

***Check Chapter One for disclaimers. Hope you've enjoyed :) * **

**Ending and Epilogue**

**Monday, September 17, 2007**

**The Agency **

"So nice to meet you again, Mr. Bahati." Francine greeted Ismael as he entered the bullpen, escorted by the MPs. His face was still slightly bruised on the left side, his shoulder held in a sling. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, though my shoulder's still healing," Ismael replied. "The doctors tell me that I have to wear this for about another week or so. Painkillers help quite a bit."

Francine gave a nod. "Glad to hear that you're improving. This way—we'll go into my office."

"Why exactly did you need you see me?" Ismael asked. "Everything's all right, isn't it?"

"Everything is just fine," Francine assured him, pushing open her office door. A man and a woman sat there on the sofa; they rose to their feet as he entered. The people who had rescued him from Gatari, Ismael realized. "We just wanted to thank you again agreeing to testify against Joseph Hugama and to debrief you on some other developments. You remember Lee and Amanda Stetson?"

"Yes of course," Ismael said. "Wait a minute—Stetson? Are you related to Jenna Stetson?"

"Yes, we're her parents," Amanda told him. "When you didn't call Jenna back, she let us know what was going on."

"I'm very glad she did." Ismael felt a shudder run through him as he thought back to that day—how close he had come to death. If Jenna hadn't said anything—he didn't even want to think about what might have happened to both of them. "We were in way over our heads—thank you both for what you did."

"Thank you, Ismael." Lee said. "Because of your testimony a war criminal will finally be brought to justice."

"That's what I'm hoping." If the extradition hearing this Wednesday went as planned, Gatari would be returned to Rwanda, there to be tried by the International Criminal tribunal. Ismael didn't have any idea how they might punish him, but in his opinion that man deserved everything that he got. "What about Margo?"

"She'll stand trial for federal kidnapping charges, as well as other offenses." Amanda told him. "Your roommate Gary Conway, is Margo's cousin, and he's agreed to testify against her in exchange for a reduced sentence. "

Gary, Ismael thought—he had to admit that part still came as a shock to him, though Gary clearly hadn't known all of what was going on when he'd given Margo the name of that dealer. "I understand. You said there were other developments as well?"

Francine nodded. "Yes, there are. I had a meeting with State Department officials this morning and we've decided to grant you refugee status with a fast track towards permanent residency and eventually citizenship."

"Your mother has also agreed to be resettled here," Lee added. "We made the same offer to your uncle but he's declined."

"Actually, I'm not surprised about my Uncle," Ismael said. "He's pretty settled in his ways and attached to that farm. So my mother will be here soon?"

"Yes, we'll have her on a plane tomorrow," Francine took a seat at her desk and opened a file folder. "But there's another thing that we need to discuss as well."

"What's that?" Ismael asked.

"Your safety," Francine said. "Joseph Hugama has strong ties to terrorist and paramilitary organizations here and in Rwanda, which is why we've been keeping you in a safe house and out of the media spotlight. But I'm afraid that even with Hugama behind bars, you and your mother might still be in danger."

"Understood." Ismael gave a nod. "So what will happen, exactly?"

"We'll continue to keep both you and your mother in the safe house for the duration of the trial," Francine told him. "But after that, we'll be placing you in our Witness Protection program. You'll both receive new identities and assistance with jobs, housing, education—everything you need to start a new life."

"I'd have to leave Georgetown?"

"I'm afraid so," Amanda said.

Leaving Georgetown—a new identity—a new life somewhere else. He'd spent the last couple of weeks stuck in the safe house, but somehow he'd thought he'd be able to resume his old life once this was over and Hugama was gone. "You're sure there's no other alternative?"

"Not at this point, no." Lee told him. "But you can continue to study by yourself in the safe house, provided you limit your internet time. And you would always be able to continue your education somewhere else, if you like—you can even receive financial aid. It's not a perfect situation, but it's the best way to keep you and your mother safe."

They'd be safe—in the end that's all that really mattered. Ismael drew in a deep breath and let it out. "Yes, I'll do it."

"Excellent," Francine said. "I'll start the ball rolling with the paperwork, and hopefully we'll be able to move you soon after the hearing. Oh, and there's one more thing." Reaching into her desk drawer she pulled out the pocket watch and handed it to him. "I believe this belongs to you."

It was with him, at last—where it was always meant to be. Ismael's vision misted over briefly; he swallowed back the lump in his throat as he clutched the object.

"Thank you," he managed to finally say. "Thank you all."

**Saturday, September 22, 2007**

**5:30 PM **

"Dad, does this look okay?" Jenna asked.

"Depends," Lee looked at the mostly green mixture simmering in the pot. "What exactly is it supposed to be?"

"It's called isombe," Jenna explained. "It's kind of a vegetable stew thing from Rwanda. I just thought that it might be a nice thing to have, you know, with Ismael and his mother coming here for dinner."

"That's a good idea, munchkin." he told her. "What exactly is in it?"

"It's got um—cassava leaves, spinach, eggplant, cabbage, tomatoes, leeks and cilantro—it's fried in the palm oil and then peanut butter is added for the sauce."

"Basically a lot of vegetables."

"Yeah, basically." Jenna pushed her hair behind her ear. "I'm just not sure I got it right. Can you just taste it for me—tell me if it's any good?"

"You want me to taste it?"

"Please, Dad?" She handed him a large spoon. "And be honest, okay? I really need to know."

"All right." Lee dipped the spoon in and blew on the mixture before taking a cautious bite, followed by another.

"So?" Jenna asked. "How is it? Is it good?"

"It's—" A lot of adjectives went though Lee's head at that moment—slightly bitter, spicy, savory—he could feel his daughter's eyes on him as he struggled to think of the word to describe what he'd just eaten. "It's very interesting."

"What does that mean? Interesting good or interesting bad?"

"It's just interesting."

Jenna let out a noisy sigh. "Dad—"

"Relax, munchkin, I'm only teasing," he told her. "I remember having this when I was in Rwanda once—trust me, what you have here is really—it's very good."

"Yes it is," Amanda said as she came into the kitchen. "And it'll taste great with the beef and rice that mother and I made. It should be a wonderful dinner."

Jenna smiled. "Thanks, it should be." Her smile faded slightly. "I just wish it didn't have to be a goodbye dinner. I'm glad that Gatari—I mean, Hugama, will be gone and that Ismael will be with his mom, but I can't pretend I won't miss him."

"I know you'll miss him," Lee said. "But trust me; right now this is the safest thing for him and his mom."

"Yeah, I know." Jenna turned the heat down on the stove, continuing to stir the isombe. Still, to not be able to talk to him, to not even be able to know where he was—it felt like she'd only just got to know him and now he'd be gone. Dad was right, though, she thought. Inside the Witness Protection Program Ismael and his mom would be safe from Gatari and other war criminals—in the end that was really the most important thing. At that moment the doorbell rang.

"You go get the door, sweetheart," Amanda told her. "I'll get this into a serving dish."

"Okay." Jenna put the spoon down and walked out to the front door. Ismael stood there, his arm still in a sling but the bruises on his face were mostly gone—he looked much better than he had in the hospital. Beside him stood a tall woman with short hair, wearing a blouse and a skirt and holding a basket of flowers.

"Hi, Jenna," Ismael said. "I'd like you to meet my mother. Mama, this is Jenna Stetson."

"It's so nice to meet you, Mrs. Bahati," Jenna said.

"Very nice to meet you as well, Jenna." Beatrice Bahati smiled as she and Ismael stepped inside. She handed Jenna the basket of flowers. "These are for you and your family—to thank you for everything you've done for us."

"Thank you," Jenna replied. "Dinner is just about ready, if you'd like to come into the dining room?"

The woman's smile widened. "That would be lovely, thank you. Lead the way."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

"This is absolutely wonderful," Beatrice said, as she speared a piece of beef with her fork. "The isombe is delicious too—where did you get the recipe?"

"I got it off the internet," Jenna replied.

"The internet; somehow I should have guessed." Beatrice smiled and shook her head. "Everything seems to be on the internet these days. Ismael keeps telling me that I need to get online."

"There's a lot that you could do online," Ismael said. "We could email each other—we could even Skype if you wanted—Skype is chatting by video," he added when he saw the confusion on his mother's face.

"But why would I need to do all that if I can just call you or see you face to face?" Beatrice asked him. "Computers and I have never really gotten along, I'm afraid."

"They really aren't that bad once you get used to them," Dotty told her. "And they're much more user friendly than they used to be—I have a laptop myself."

"We'll see, perhaps when we settle down, I'll look into it," Beatrice replied. "I suppose I'll need to learn something about them, once I get into the job market. Computer skills seem to be in demand these days."

"Don't worry," Ismael assured her. "I'll help you with whatever you need to know."

"I'm sure you will." Beatrice hugged her son briefly. "You've always been a big help to me."

Jenna took a sip of her ice water. "By the way, what was your major?" she asked Ismael. "I don't think I ever asked you that before."

"Well to be honest, I never asked you either," Ismael replied with a grin. "I never got around to declaring one, but I was leaning towards computer science."

"That's a very good major," Amanda said.

"I thought so too." Beatrice gave a nod as she took another bite of her isombe. "His father always loved technology, you know—that's where Ismael gets it from, and that's one of the reasons he wanted to come here. Hopefully he'll be able to pick up his studies again once we've settled in our new lives."

"He shouldn't have any problem with that," Lee said. "If that's what he wants."

"Good." Beatrice's expression darkened. "One of the reasons I wanted him to come here was because I thought he'd be safer in this country—away from all the turmoil. I never dreamed that he'd stumble across one of our greatest enemies right here."

"Mama, you can't blame yourself," Ismael told her. "You thought that man was dead, we all did. There's no way you could have known."

"Hugama used to be your neighbor, didn't he?" Amanda asked.

"He was, yes." Beatrice said. "At the time my husband thought he was trustworthy, but I—I just always felt there was something about him—I didn't know exactly what, I just knew that I didn't like him. Though it wasn't until after Alphonse died that I discovered how treacherous he actually was. "

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean." Lee thought back to the UN workers and what had happened there after Hugama's betrayal. Amanda took his hand in hers squeezing.

"He's responsible for so much suffering—and he almost took my son away as well," Beatrice's voice trembled slightly; she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm so grateful that you spoke up, Jenna—and that you all stepped in when you did—again, thank you. Because of you this man will finally see true justice."

Dotty lifted her water glass. "To justice."

"To justice," everyone chorused. The glasses clinked together.

** SMK SMK SMK SMK **

"Do you watch the stars a lot?" Ismael asked Jenna. They sat together on top of the picnic table, looking up at the clear night sky. It was a nice night; warm but not too muggy—fireflies danced and darted around the bushes. "I used to do that quite a lot when I was little."

"Sometimes," Jenna admitted. "Not a lot, though. But I remember that we went on a stargazing trip in middle school one time and the teacher pointed out all the different constellations."

"Which ones?"

"Well, that one there is the big dipper," Jenna pointed as she spoke. "And then the little dipper is there—although they can also be Ursa Major and Ursa Minor—that's Great Bear and Little Bear—oh, and that one over there—those three stars? That's Orion's belt."

"Yes, and right there's Pegasus."

"Where?"

"See that square right there? That's the great square of Pegasus. And then you see the legs and the head. "

"Oh yeah, I see it now." Jenna looked where Ismael was pointing—now that he'd mentioned it she could see how the stars formed the shape of the front half of a horse. "It kind of looks upside down, though."

Ismael smiled. "That's what I always thought too. So how's Arabic class now without Gatari?"

"Good— it's different, though. The new professor is Hisam Mirza and he's a lot of fun—he teaches us Arabic songs and makes everyone laugh. I think all the students really like him."

"Sounds like a lot of fun."

"He is, though Dr. Spencer's replacement is not so good. I swear, Professor Birch just stands there and reads everything straight from the Biology textbook."

"Boring."

"Boring is the word, all right—everyone's already calling him Professor Dirge. Dr. Spencer couldn't stay, though—not after trying to blackmail someone."

"You're right, he couldn't." They sat there for a few moments in companionable silence, listening to the steady chirp of crickets. Finally Ismael spoke again. "I know I've said it before, but thank you for telling your parents when you did. I really did get myself into a mess."

"To be fair, we didn't know what you were investigating, not at first. And what you did at the hearing—testifying against him, that was great. Because of you they're going to put him away a long time."

"Because of you as well. You saved my life."

Jenna felt her cheeks growing warm. "You're very welcome."

"Though when you said you had contacts in law enforcement, you never mentioned that your parents were the law enforcement—that they were actually spies."

"No, well I couldn't really say," Jenna replied. "I've always had to keep it a secret. In fact, none of my other friends know anything about it—just you."

"Well I'm honored to be the friend that knows," Ismael paused, glancing over at her. "What is your major, by the way?"

"International Relations."

"Good field. Have you ever thought about going into your parents' profession? Being a spy?"

"Oh, yeah." Jenna nodded. "Thinking about it—though I think it still makes my parents nervous, especially my dad. It's not exactly what you'd call a safe job."

"Nothing's ever completely safe, but still, I think you'd be good at that field, if that's what you decide to go into."

"Thanks—and you'd be very good at computer science."

Another smile. "Software engineering, specifically. That's what I'm hoping to do, providing I'm able to go to school again."

"You will," Jenna told him. "I know you'll do everything you want to do, Ismael."

"I know you will too."

"Ismael!" His mother's voice. "It's time to go now."

He stood. "Well, I guess this is it."

"Guess so."

"I'm afraid I'm not very good at goodbyes."

"Me either." Jenna drew in a breath and let it out. "Goodbye, Ismael—take care of yourself, all right?"

"Goodbye, Jenna." He put his uninjured arm around her, giving her a brief hug. "You take care too." Together they walked around the side of the house to the front yard, where Ismael's mother stood waiting beside the car, along with Lee and Amanda.

"I really wish we could stay a bit longer," Beatrice said. "But we probably should get to sleep early—with the relocation and everything else I'm afraid we have a long week ahead of us."

"Don't worry, we understand," Lee told her.

Beatrice smiled briefly, her eyes suspiciously bright. "I know you do. It's going to be quite an adjustment, but I think that together my son and I will be able to make the best of it."

"We will," Ismael added.

"Yes," Beatrice said. "I'm just so glad I was able to come here, and meet all of you."

"We're so glad that you could come here too," Jenna said.

"Yes." The woman hugged her. "Thank you again, Jenna, for being there when my son needed someone. And goodbye, all." With that she and Ismael both got into the car. Jenna stood there with her parents, watching as the car disappeared into the night.

"They'll be all right," Jenna said. "They will—won't they?"

"Yes, I think so," Amanda told her, pulling Jenna close against her side. "I think they'll be just fine,"

Together they turned and walked back into the house.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**Epilogue**

**4247 Maplewood Dr.**

**Friday, November 2, 2007 **

**5:30 PM **

"I hate my midterms," Lisa sighed.

"Hate?" Jenna sat on the sofa, her cell phone clamped to her ear and her books spread out across the coffee table. The television was on, the pictures flashing across the screen but the sound was down. She could hear her grandma in the kitchen, opening and closing the oven as she prepared dinner."Isn't hate kind of a strong word?"

"Not for this it isn't."

"They haven't even happened yet."

"No, but studying for them is a bitch. You know that I stayed up till 2 AM last night reading about John Cotton , and now I'm writing an outline for an essay on the nature of good?"

"What classes are those for?"

Another sigh. "American History and Philosophy. I shouldn't have turned down the whisky my roommate offered me last night."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Maybe I'm kidding," Lisa replied drily. "So how's your studying going?"

"Well, I studied European History and Humanities last night. Right I'm working on my Arabic—part of that exam is oral, and I'm making notes for my essay in International Relations."

"Sounds busy."

Jenna tucked her hair behind one ear. "Yep, it is. I'm trying to take them two by two, you know? Tomorrow it's Biology and Writing."

"What's the International Relations essay about?"

"Neoclassical Realism and the Four Theories of Foreign Policy."

"Wow—I was gonna suggest we switch places, but on second thought, you can keep that. I don't even understand what it means."

Jenna laughed quietly. "I thought you might say that."

"Hitting the whisky yet?" Lisa teased.

"Nope." Jenna took a sip from a mug beside her. On the television the news was on—something about a screenwriter's strike. "I am hitting the coffee, though."

"Understandable. So, has the excitement died down yet on campus after all that stuff with that Professor what's his name being a war criminal and all?"

"Gatari—his real name was Joseph Hugama, though. And yeah—all that died down a while ago."

"That is so creepy that he was actually your professor," Lisa said. "What happened to him? Has he gone to trial yet?"

"Supposedly, yeah. I haven't heard anything about it, though." At that moment Jenna looked at the television screen—the caption at the bottom read 'Verdict Reached by Rwanda Tribunal'. "Hey, Lisa, I'm going to have to let you go, okay? Can I call you back later tonight?"

"Sure, provided my brain isn't a big pile of goo by then. Seriously, it's fine, though—I need to get to work on this mess anyway. Take care, all right? Good luck."

"Yeah, you too." Jenna hung up her cell and fished under the pile of papers, grabbing the remote and turning the volume up.

"And in other news, The International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda has found Joseph Hugama guilty on multiple counts of genocide, rapes, and various war crimes, including the role he played in the church arson in Gikondo and the mass slaughter of twenty UN Workers." At that moment the front door opened and Lee and Amanda entered the room. "Previously believed to be dead, Hugama was discovered a couple of months ago at Georgetown University, posing as Professor Jean-Baptiste Gatari. While Hugama has not been sentenced yet, he is expected to receive life in prison for his crimes."

"Sounds like justice has finally been served," her dad said.

Jenna nodded. "Yeah, it has. I hope that Ismael knows about it." Wherever he was now, she thought. It still seemed weird; not to be able to call and talk to him about it.

Amanda put a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "I'm sure he knows."

Jenna nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure he does too."

"Oh by the way," Lee told her. "Margo Andersen agreed to give further evidence against Hugama in exchange for a lesser sentence."

"I guess she wasn't as loyal to him as he thought she was," Jenna said, looking at the TV screen, where they were now showing the building where the Tribunals were held, reporters camped out front.

"No, she wasn't," Amanda added. "Not once she realized what the consequences of her crimes would be."

The consequences—that was what Hugama was facing now. The front doors of the building opened and Joseph Hugama, his hands cuffed, was being led out of the building, flanked by guards as the cameras flashed all around him. She thought back to the toast they'd given at the dinner back in September.

To Justice.

Dad was right, Jenna thought, the corners of her mouth turning up in a smile. Justice had finally been served.

** The End**


End file.
